


Four-Point Landing

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: Not Part of the Plan [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Awkwardness, Captivity, Castiel POV, Intrigue, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Politics, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knew that people were going to challenge his marriage once the honeymoon was over, but he didn't think it would happen like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel wakes up on a narrow bed. The sheets are clean but slightly musty, as though they haven’t been used in a while. Castiel has a headache and there’s the taste of cloves in his mouth. He has a vague memory of being rocked in a vehicle. He must’ve woken up while being transported, and they’d put him to sleep for ease of handling.

Truthfully, Castiel doesn’t want to get up. Getting up would mean having to deal with things.

Though if he got up there might be water to drink.

Sitting up takes some effort, though there is indeed a water pitcher on the side table. He’s in an L-shaped room of old brick walls and wooden floors, the sparse furniture old-looking but sturdy. Everything is clean. There is a window at the far end but it appears to be boarded, leaving the only light coming through narrow openings near the ceiling. It feels high up, a few floors off the ground at least. The air is fresh.

This room is just a little smaller than his apartment, actually. It could even be cozy as some sort of retreat, if Castiel’s context were different.

At first Castiel thinks this is the ancient Ilchester fortress that Dean showed him during their jaunts into town, but if that were the case then he should be able to smell salty sea air, which he doesn’t. He could be anywhere.

Castiel has a drink and starts exploring the room. The chairs and tables have no secrets he can immediately find. The wardrobe is mostly empty, but to Castiel’s surprise his emergency backpack is there. Most of his things are there, except for the utility knife that has apparently been taken. Castiel takes a nutrition bar to eat, and leaves everything else.

There is only one exit, which has a viewing hole at eye-height that Castiel suspects can only be opened from the outside. The door handle doesn’t budge. There is an attached bathroom but it doesn’t have a door, privacy only accorded by a plastic curtain.

Castiel imagines Dean in a room similar to this one, waking up the way he did. Dean would take the situation with less aplomb, likely. He could be bouncing off the walls, yelling his way to the obtaining of answers.

As for Castiel, he finishes his bar, takes another drink of water, and sits on a chair to wait.

It doesn’t take long for someone to arrive, presumably alerted by Castiel’s not-at-all-careful attempts to open the door. The little viewing window snaps open briefly, then the door itself opens.

Kevin Tran steps into the room. He’s unarmed and smiling in an apologetic, anxious way. There’s an unfamiliar man just behind him, tall and built, his eyes alert but non-confrontational. When Kevin shoots his companion a slightly desperate look, the other man gently closes the door, leaving Kevin and Castiel alone. Kevin’s clothes are casual, the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up to his elbows, his jeans scuffed. This is not a day where protocol is a priority.

Isn’t it funny that Castiel had asked Rachel to contact Kevin for help? Perhaps ‘funny’ is not the word for it.

“Your Lordship.” Kevin bows quickly. “I know this is terribly out of protocol—”

“Where’s Dean?” Castiel asks.

“Ah. Right. Yes.” Kevin’s head bobs nervously. “He’s in the building. He’s fine, I promise.”

“My staff are here as well?”

“Uh, we couldn’t find Virgil, but Rachel is here, yes. The others were sent home.”

Castiel nods. “You will take me to see Dean now.”

“Um.” Kevin grimaces when Castiel glares at him, and sputters, “It’s kinda difficult at the moment, but I promise—”

Castiel rushes forward, closing the space between them to grab the front of Kevin’s shirt. “If you have hurt Dean in any way you may be certain of my retribution.” Kevin’s eyes get even wider when Castiel shakes him. “It will not be pleasant, Mister Tran.”

Castiel glances up when the door reopens, the other man rushing into the room to intercede. Castiel releases his hold on Kevin but stands where he is, meeting the other man’s eyes steadily.

“Victor, it’s okay,” Kevin says, waving his companion off. “Come on, it’s been a rough day for all of us.”

“A rough day?” Castiel says. “Yes, you could say that. You’re supposed to be Dean’s allies, yet you resort to kidnapping him?”

Victor speaks then, cool and professional: “With all due respect, sir, it wasn’t a kidnapping. It was a rescue.”

Castiel knows he’s being assessed as much as he’s doing the assessing. Dean’s mentioned a friend named Victor, who isn’t a hunter though he is aligned with them. More importantly, that Victor is someone Dean said that he trusts, as are Kevin and Jo, the kidnapper Castiel had had pleasure to meet earlier.

“Henriksen?” Castiel asks.

Victor starts in surprise, and then nods. “Yes.”

“You will take me to see my husband.”

“Not on the plate right now, sorry.”

“We’re not your enemy,” Kevin insists. “We were going to give Dean more time to convince you to come with us, but things happened beyond our control and we had to move as soon as we could.”

Castiel keeps his expression neutral. “I see.” How nice of Kevin to answer the question Castiel hadn’t asked yet, on how deep Dean’s involvement in this matter is.

“We could have left you at the House,” Victor says, while Kevin makes frantic hand motions at him to stop talking.

“You should have,” Castiel says. “I knew that Dean wanted to leave, and I would have covered for him. Now our unexplained absence will be cause for controversy.”

Kevin and Victor are surprised by this admission, which is yet more evidence that Dean hasn’t been completely honest on either side of his conspiracies. Castiel doesn’t care that Dean wanted to leave, or arranged it with his friends outside of Castiel’s knowledge. He practically told Castiel everything, anyway – how he wanted to run, why he wanted to run. He just didn’t specify on the _when_.

There’s also the fact this Dean’s supposed friends moved so aggressively.

The memory comes unbidden of Dean’s subtle bruises, and the way Dean had avoided Castiel’s questioning of where they came from. “Did you try to take him at the theatre as well?” he asks, and Kevin’s grimace is answer enough. “How about our car that night? Was the sabotage your doing as well?”

Victor’s scowling now. “We did that to give him another chance to run.”

“Then you should have respected his choice when he didn’t,” Castiel says, and he knows this hits a nerve when Victor tenses up. For whatever reason Dean changed his mind that night, and apparently these people decided that the only way forward was to stage a full-on siege of the Joshua House. Amazing. “Excellent work of forcing his hand again.”

“You—” Victor starts angrily, but Kevin grabs at his arm.

“You must be hungry, sir,” Kevin says quickly, dragging Victor back. “We’ll get you something and, and, and tell Dean that you’re up, yes. Be right back!”

The door slams shut behind them, and there’s the distinctive click of a latch being put into place. Protection, indeed.

Castiel goes to the door and leans against it. Anyone peering through the door’s viewing hole will be able to see most of the room save the bathroom – there are few places for secrets here. The design of this room is actually quite excellent for its purpose, and Castiel could never be mistaken on what that purpose is.

 

* * *

 

It’s plain that Castiel’s scope of understanding here is limited. His impression of Kevin is that he’s an intelligent, somewhat idealistic young man, which means that whatever his cause is here, he must believe in it whole-heartedly. As for Victor, he’s Dean’s comrade-in-arms. These should be people who are looking out for Dean’s best interest, which makes their motivations difficult for Castiel to decipher.

It’s not too long before Kevin returns with lunch for Castiel, a simple but hearty meal that he presents on a tray. Victor has returned with him, along with a slightly older man who introduces himself as Bobby Singer. The name rings a bell – Winchester family friend, hunter, parental figure, helped care for Dean and his brother while their parents were away on missions.

“You were at our wedding,” Castiel says. He shakes Bobby’s hand, but only because it was offered. “Dean spoke of you often.”

“Did he, now?” Bobby says. “Please, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

The room has a wide table that’s large enough for four people to comfortably sit at. Castiel sits there now, in front of the tray laid out on it, and is surprised when Bobby joins him, opening a drinking thermos for himself. If Bobby wants to accompany him then that’s his own business. Castiel starts working on the meat and vegetable stew he’s presented with, talking as he does.

“Tell me about Dean,” Castiel says.

“Dean?” Bobby snorts. “He’s doin’ fine. I reckon he’s as annoyed about this ruckus as you are.”

“That would be difficult, as I am quite annoyed.” Castiel doesn’t react when Bobby half-laughs. “Tell me that he’s unharmed.”

Bobby frowns. “We wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

“You did, when he refused to go with you the first time,” Castiel points out. “How am I supposed to know that you haven’t done it again, or worse?”

Bobby exchanges a look with Victor, some unspoken conversation passing between Bobby’s frown and Victor’s raised eyebrow. “You’re worried about Dean, huh,” Bobby says.

“He’s my husband,” Castiel says.

“Of course, sorry.” Bobby takes a sip from his thermos. “And apologies for cutting the honeymoon short. Desperate times.”

“Yes, Dean told me,” Castiel says, exasperated. “He is concerned about Sam and wishes to find him, I understand that. But you didn’t have to steal him. It is impolitic and disrespectful.”

“It was his idea,” Bobby says, and Castiel does his very best not to let his expression change. “He didn’t feel safe. With you.”

“No,” Castiel says. “If Dean planned to flee the house, his keeping it a secret from me wouldn’t be out of fear, but of concern. By not telling me, I wouldn’t have to lie for him. He would shoulder the blame for the fallout.”

Bobby leans back a little, scrutinizing. “You think that?”

“It is accurate. Even you must admit that.” Castiel holds Bobby’s gaze. “I am not responsible for his actions, or for yours. All I can do is react, and I am not impressed with you so far.”

“Whoa down there, son,” Bobby says, raising his hands. “We’re all on the same side.”

“I think you’ll find that we’re not.” Castiel takes in the full picture. Bobby’s in a placating position, most or all of it a performance. Kevin is anxious, Victor is distrustful. Castiel makes them nervous, when barely a month ago they’d attended, supported and participated in his and Dean’s wedding celebrations. Something has happened in the interim.

“We’re all thinking ‘bout what’s best for Dean,” Bobby says.

Castiel is sitting in a room controlled by people he only knows by reputation. They are on edge, eager, and hungry for something from Castiel that they refuse to ask for outright. He has been taken by force, he has been denied his husband’s presence, and it appears that straightforward answers are being withheld in order to get him to reveal something.

Castiel knows this game. If they want to play, they can play.

“Has the agreement between our countries broken down?” Castiel asks.

Bobby’s expression changes. Castiel is relieved to see it, since such things usually signal the cutting through the bullshit. Castiel figures that they’re handling him gently because of his value, but there’s an edge of uncertainty in their manner, as though they’re winging it. They’ve probably never kidnapped the cousin of a King before, after all. At the corner of Castiel’s eye Kevin is looking like he’s trying not to panic.

“No,” Bobby says. “But feelings are running hot and the status could kick the quo to the curb at any moment.”

“You’ve heard that there are court factions challenging the validity of my marriage.” Castiel shakes his head and corrects himself: “ _Dean_ told you about it.”

“Yeah,” Bobby admits. “Lots of questions are being asked right now, but your side’s clammed up tight and it’s making people nervous. You’re married to Dean, but that might not have happened at all, and if it didn’t, then you’re the only lead we got on what’s really happening out there.”

“What are the terms of my stay here?” Castiel asks.

“Son—”

“Don’t call me that, and stop trying to convince me what this isn’t,” Castiel says. “What do you need from me?”

Bobby sighs. “I need to ask some questions about what your intentions are. Towards Dean, towards us.”

“Ah,” Castiel says. “You cannot give me an estimate of how long you wish to keep me, because you don’t know. Fine. I will tell you my terms: I want to see Rachel to ensure that she is unharmed, and you will allow her to leave these premises to safety. Until you can do this for me, I will not speak to you nor answer any of your questions.”

Bobby scowls. “Hey now—”

“That is all.” Castiel returns his attention to his meal.

“Last night Michael’s fleet appeared off the Ilchester coast,” Bobby says. “At least a half-dozen ships that we can see, and they just popped up without so much as a warning or a please. Do you understand what that means? It means _Michael_ made the first move, not us.”

Castiel keeps his hands steady as he keeps eating.

“There’s been radio silence from your side,” Bobby continues. “We made a decision, and collected you and Dean ahead of schedule to make sure they couldn’t get to you first. Can you blame us? If you know anything about this, you have to tell us.”

Castiel peels his roll of bread apart, dipping the smaller pieces into the stew to eat.

“Are they here to escort you and Dean over to Michael? ’Cause I heard that Michael asked you to pay your homage earlier and you said no. _No._ To the King, who I hear don’t take that kind of answer too well.” Bobby sighs when Castiel doesn’t respond. “Look, if Dean’s been talking about me, you have to know that he’s family to me. If you can’t trust me, then trust him.”

Castiel inhales sharply, impressed by Bobby’s nudge on the pressure point.

“Fine.” Bobby pushes his chair back and stands up. “We’ll do it your way.”

Castiel only allows himself to exhale shakily once all three of them have left, taking the empty tray with them.

He almost wants to laugh. If Bobby’s speaking the truth, then Michael has just jeopardized the negotiations, the trade agreements, the public relations boon of Castiel’s marriage to Dean. It’s a provocative move, and not one he would’ve taken unless the reward outweighs the risks. Heaven knows what that reward _is_ , but Castiel has plenty of experience in being kept in the dark of the Crown’s true motives.

Castiel places his hands flat on the table, visualizing the tension of his body siphoning off into the furniture. The motion causes his cuffs to fall back a little, and his eye catches on the bracelet Dean gave him.

Silver. Not high grade, but it could be useful. Castiel quickly unlatches it and – after making sure that no one is watching from the viewing hole – hides it in a groove underneath the mattress.

Castiel looks around the room. Wood, stone, no salt, nothing organic he can use for conjuring. He needs to make another careful sweep of the room, find out where he is, figure out what to do next. He needs to think.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s only a few hours before Castiel has company again. This time he hears Dean’s voice before the door even opens, and the sound of it has Castiel immediately jumping up from his chair, heart stuttering in his chest in abrupt and overwhelming expectation.

The door swings open, and there he is. Dean appears unharmed, no bandages or injuries anywhere visible. That said he’s _furious_ , eyes wild and focused, his mouth a hard line as he storms into the room.

Trailing behind him are Bobby and Victor, but for the moment they are irrelevant to the betrayal on Dean’s face when he sees Castiel.

“What the _hell_ , Bobby?” Dean shouts, turning on his friend. “I told you to leave him!”

“That wasn’t your call to make,” Bobby says.

“It _is_ my call to make, I’m his husband!” Dean releases a huge breath and comes forward, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder cautiously. “You all right? They didn’t hurt you?”

Castiel could almost melt from the relief of seeing Dean. There’s also gratification to be felt in his palpable anger, and Castiel breathes it in even as he shakes his head in reply and opens his hands to show that he’s fine.

“How many lines did you cross?” Dean asks. “I’m guessing the Council didn’t sanction this.”

“You’d be wrong,” Victor says. “Ellen knows.”

“They moved _first_ ,” Bobby says, angrier now. “We had to get you out of there. If Michael got you—”

“You didn’t need to take Cas!” Dean turns back to Castiel, dropping his voice when says, “I didn’t tell them to take you. You believe me, right, Cas?”

Castiel nods. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks but his eyes reveal his worry, so Castiel moves without thinking, touching Dean’s elbow gently. It’s merely a gesture of comfort, but at the corner of Castiel’s eye he sees Victor surreptitiously uncross his arms in readiness, and Bobby change his stance.

As though Castiel is dangerous.

“Ask him, Dean,” Bobby says.

Dean groans in frustration. “Did you know Michael was gonna send ships to Ilchester?” When Castiel shakes his head Dean says, “See! He didn’t know!”

“You take that at face value?” Victor says.

“ _Yes_ , I take that at face value,” Dean snaps. “I can vouch for Cas.”

“He kept you imprisoned for almost a month,” Bobby says.

Castiel blinks. What?

“We were _both_ kept there, I keep telling you!” Dean exclaims, while Castiel’s mind is rolling a hundred miles a minute, recalibrating. “Cas didn’t want it any more than I did!”

“The managing staff were his people,” Bobby says calmly, in a voice that tells Castiel this is a familiar argument. “ _His_ people controlled the house and everything in it. _You_ were isolated, on purpose, to a level you said even your husband thought was unusual. You had to smuggle letters, Dean! Doesn’t that paint a clear picture of what you were put through?”

“We’re not talking about this now,” Dean snaps.

“Dean, you need to clear your head,” Bobby says. “Your… His Lordship will be fine, and this place is much better than what he’s used to.”

Much better than what Castiel’s used to? That’s an odd thing to say, and Castiel would’ve continued to be confused by it if Dean didn’t jerk suddenly, head whipping round so his wide, panicked eyes met Castiel’s. There’s no reason Castiel can immediately think of for Dean to be frozen like that.

But Bobby can’t be talking about Joshua House with its comfortable luxury. That’s ludicrous.

Is he talking about Castiel’s younger years when he lived in the Tollbooth? Did Dean _tell_ him about that repressed part of Castiel’s history?

As Castiel stares at Dean’s stricken face, he realizes that, yes, Dean told Bobby this. Dean could have told Bobby all of it.

There is a lead weight in Castiel’s stomach at the realization that Dean knows… practically everything. He knows how Castiel was raised, who raised him, his limited allies, his relationship with Michael. He knows about the factions at court, those who are for and against Michael. He knows about the various Houses, the important routes across the Isles, the strategic locations and power bases across the Kingdom.

Dean knows about all of this because Castiel taught him. The Wall has meant that a lot of the kingdom’s workings have been obscure to outsiders, but now these people have that intelligence from Dean. If they need more, they can take it from Castiel. The King’s cousin is useful. It makes sense. This is why he’s here.

Castiel casts his gaze down for a moment, grounding himself in the safe, stone grey of the floor. When he brings his eyes back up he is steadier, and meets Bobby’s solemn face with challenge.

“Cas…” Dean says haltingly. “You were supposed to be safe at the House, I thought you’d—”

Castiel waves Dean off and points at Bobby accusingly. He did this on purpose, bringing Dean here to try to get Castiel to speak. It won’t work.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Dean says. “Did they hurt you?”

“He’s on a vow of silence,” Victor says. “He wants Rachel released before he’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Dean says. “Let’s do that.”

“Dean—” Bobby protests.

“Let’s _do that_.” Dean nods at Castiel, and the stubborn jut of his mouth should be comforting, except Dean doesn’t seem to be aware of the danger he’s in. His friends shouldn’t be looking at him as though they can’t trust a single word that’s coming out of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

 

Victor stays with Castiel while the others leave to manage his request, Dean still overflowing with frustration while Bobby glowers at him. Victor sits at the table, and after a moment Castiel joins him, but Victor is wise enough to make no attempt to break the silence of the room.

The door is unlocked, but Castiel won’t chance it just yet.

This is a good time for Castiel to review the situation from Dean’s allies’ point of view. Castiel thinks of Dean’s irritation reading letters from his parents who doubted his safety and treatment at the house. He thinks of Dean’s pinched smile in their photography sessions and recorded interview, and how that might have looked to the people who know Dean.

He thinks about the way Dean described him: _“You’re… the way you are.”_ It hadn’t stung when he’d said it, but that’s because the way Dean treats him has made Castiel believe that there’s nothing wrong with him. If Dean can be so wonderful and warm and friendly to him, then surely Castiel’s shortcomings aren’t so huge.

Perhaps that’s just Dean.

Castiel isn’t afraid of Michael, but he’s aware of the affect Michael has on people, if only by reputation. Michael’s mouthpieces are Naomi, Zachariah, Uriel and the like; they are powerful and intimidating in their own ways. Castiel is aware of the kind of family he belongs to, and the reputation those ties give him.

Sam’s education might have prepared him for the role of a diplomatic husband. Dean is a last-minute replacement, thrown head-first to save face, unprepared and alone. Naomi’s spin on the supposed romance of a century might have been a PR boon for the public, but it must have come off as a horror story for others.

“You said,” Castiel says quietly, making Victor start in surprise, “that your coming to Ilchester wasn’t for a kidnapping, but a rescue. What you meant is that you were rescuing Dean from _me_ , wasn’t it?”

Victor’s expression is inscrutable, but Castiel sees enough. “Better to keep to your silence, Your Lordship,” Victor says neutrally.

“If I want to speak, I will speak,” Castiel says. These are Dean’s friends, and they are protective of him. Michael may have triggered them to act ahead of schedule by sending his ships, but their plan to get Dean out of the House was in place before that happened.

“The simple truth is that I don’t know you,” Victor says, in a soft voice that makes Castiel think this might be somewhat off the record. “All I know is that I had to hear from the TV that my friend is getting _married_ , out of the freaking blue, to a... Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve known Dean for years and he’s not a fan of y’all. Royalty, I mean.”

“I know that. Dicks with tiaras, he’s called us. Don’t look so shocked. Dean has been quite candid with me. I know his feelings about the monarchy.”

“Okay…” Victor says slowly. “Well, then I guess you understand why it’s… Why he’s coming off so strange to us. He planned his escape from your honeymoon house. Yet when it came down to it, he wouldn’t come with us. Gave our buddy a black eye trying to get away. We also had people watching the two of you in the restaurant… and the theatre.”

Castiel’s face flushes warm at the memory of Dean’s behavior that night. “You think that I seduced him? That I altered him so to keep him by my side for Michael’s use?”

Victor sighs. “I don’t know what to think. But I do know that Dean has a hero complex. He thinks he can save everyone if he tries hard enough. Maybe he got it into his head to save you.”

“You look down on Dean’s _compassion_?”

“A smart person could use that against him,” Victor points out.

That’s… not incorrect, and Castiel can’t dispute it no matter which angle he takes. If Dean were married to someone else, say Naomi or Bartholomew, they would’ve found that side of Dean swiftly enough, and turned it around to be used as puppet strings. Personally Castiel finds it difficult to imagine Dean – stubborn, opinionated, judgmental Dean – ever falling for a trick like that, but Victor’s known Dean for so much longer than Castiel has.

“You care about Dean,” Castiel says.

“Damn right I do,” Victor says. “If we’re wrong, I owe you the biggest apology in the world. But if we’re right, and you’re messing with him, I’m gonna be first in line to kick your ass.”

Castiel smiles at that – Victor even sounds like Dean. It could be a continental thing, or a hunter thing, but the delivery is key.

By the time Dean and Bobby return, Castiel is more subdued. Blessedly, Rachel is with them, unkempt but unharmed, and she sags with relief at the sight of him.

“Your Lordship,” Rachel says, before turning to Dean and adding, “Thank you. I will stay with him.”

“I told you,” Dean says, “Cas wants you to be released.”

“I will stay,” Rachel says stubbornly. “He can’t be left alone in your custody.”

“Rachel,” Castiel says, catching her attention. “Did you know Michael was going to send his ships?”

“No.” Rachel is unsurprised by the question, so they must have asked her this already. “There is still a week until our scheduled departure. Frankly, all we have is _their_ word that a fleet has appeared off the coast, isn’t it?”

“I want you to go,” Castiel tells her. “I want you to find out what’s going on, and mind my interests. If this is a misunderstanding, I need to know that someone on my side is out there and can help put it to rest. Can you do that for me, Rachel?”

Indecision wars on Rachel’s face. She is afraid for him, and her loyalty is touching.

“They’re not going to hurt me,” Castiel says. “Dean will make sure of that.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Rachel hisses. She side-eyes the man in question, who flinches at her glare. “A husband who flees the marital bed is no husband at all.”

Bobby hums. “How about a husband who tricks their partner into the marital bed?”

Rachel’s face goes pink, but Castiel cuts her off sharply: “Rachel. Please. Your role is important. Do this for me.”

“All right,” Rachel says, after a long moment. “I’ll do this for you. May this just be a huge misunderstanding.”

“And we’ll laugh about it tomorrow over dinner,” Castiel says, which makes Rachel smile a little.

“Cas,” Dean says gently. “I’ll take her out myself, get her to the next town. Is that good enough?”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

Rachel darts forward suddenly, hugging him. Castiel is startled by the movement but accepts the hug.

“Everyone’s overreacting, if you ask me,” Rachel says primly, once she draws back. “This marriage was supposed to bring us closer together, not have us jumping at each other’s shadows.”

“Isn’t that funny,” Castiel says shrewdly.

 

* * *

 

 

If this is a misunderstanding, then Castiel is in no position to uncover the truths of the situation. All he can do is sit in a room not of his choosing and wait, which is familiar enough in its banality that Castiel could almost consider himself an expert.

But this is not like before. The turns of fortune in Castiel’s past have all taken place in his own realm. The rules are different here. The people have different edges. Castiel’s married to one of them, and is starting to suspect that the depth of which he doesn’t know Dean is deeper than he’d ever thought.

It does make a lot of Dean’s behavior during their honeymoon make sense in retrospect, though. Dean’s hot and cold moods could’ve been the result of his smuggled letters – he must have learned of his allies’ suspicions of the Crown’s intentions. It certainly explains Dean’s strange nature of their last few days, the way he’d finally touched Castiel as though that was his last chance and he’d better take it before he fled the House.

It’s long after sunset and dinner, when Castiel’s lying in bed waiting for sleep that won’t come, that Dean returns.

“Cas,” Dean says quietly, when the door opens. With him are Kevin and Victor, both of whom hang back as Dean moves forward into the room. “Cas, I gotta be quick.”

Castiel sits up. “What is it? Is Rachel all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, I got a car for her, she’s on the way back to town.” Dean crouches down next to where Castiel’s sitting on the bed, and briefly squeezes Castiel’s knee. “I might not be able to see you for a while, so I wanted to – I have to take this chance to tell you I’m sorry. For everything, for not telling you about my plans, that I was gonna leave—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says.

Dean grimaces. “Cas—”

“I’m well aware of the importance of subterfuge.” Castiel is also aware of Kevin and Victor’s presence on the other side of the room, and so keeps his voice down. “You are protecting your family and your people. It’s not personal.”

Most of the lights in Castiel’s room are off, leaving the only sources of illumination coming from the hallway beyond the door. Dean’s face is mostly in shadow but Castiel sees him wince, and the way he’s struggling to find something to say. There _is_ something he could say to make this better, though.

“Dean,” Castiel says, dropping his voice even lower. “Get me out of here.”

Dean’s throat clicks. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Castiel says. “If your friends cannot trust you, find some other way. Sneak me out.”

“The Council’s reps are coming here,” Dean whispers. “There’ll be hell if you escape. You haven’t exactly been cooperative with us.”

Castiel scowls. “I don’t owe it to my kidnappers to be _polite_.”

“They wouldn’t have had to kidnap you if you’d just agreed to come with me,” Dean counters.

“So this is my fault?”

“No, no, it’s…” Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve had a few more days to convince you.”

“You’d done all you could to convince me,” Castiel says. “What else is left beyond sleeping with me?”

Dean double-takes, reeling backwards as the accusation sinks in. “I didn’t… That’s not why I… Jesus, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t purposely say that to sting Dean, but maybe he subconsciously desired it because there’s a rush of petty gratification in seeing Dean wounded. Castiel is tired and frustrated, and afraid that his feelings for Dean are stopping him from viewing the situation clearly. He wants to believe in Dean’s convictions, but this situation is beyond him, beyond them, beyond what their marriage is supposed to be.

“Then was it a goodbye?” Castiel asks. When Dean averts his gaze, Castiel nods to himself. “That makes sense. It was good, I enjoyed it very much. It makes up for telling Bobby everything about me.”

“I told him about the… about _that_ ‘cause I was trying to convince them you’re not close to Michael,” Dean hisses. “You’re not like him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel says.

In some ways, this is better. They were never going to have more than a skin-deep marriage, no matter how for a brief moment Castiel almost lost his head wondering about the _what if_. Even if this all blows over tomorrow Castiel will have this reminder that they are but pieces in play, and their arrangement is bigger than both of them combined. Who they are as people never mattered.

“Dean,” Victor says, making both of them start. He’s holding his walkie-talkie to his ear and scowling. “They’ve taken the town.”

“Taken the town?” Dean echoes, rising to his feet. “What do you mean, taken the town?”

“Ilchester has gone dark,” Victor says. “Michael’s people have landed and closed off the town.”

“Fucking shit,” Dean mutters. “Cas, if you know anything—”

“I don’t,” Castiel says. “Stop asking.”

“Other people are going to ask,” Dean points out.

“And I will tell them the truth as I have told you.”

“We need to go, Dean,” Victor says urgently. “Now.”

Castiel doesn’t bother saying anything else because it would be a waste of effort and breath. Dean and Victor leave to assess the situation, and then there will likely be talking and negotiations and thinly-veiled threats and nostalgia for the time when the Wall was still up, keeping relations between their two countries cool and impersonal. Castiel wants to go home.

“Your Lordship,” Kevin says. He’s frozen in the doorway, in the motion of pulling the door closed. “I—I don’t know if you’re aware, but we know the full story. Not the fairytale, the real one. How you, uh… how you only _met_ Dean just before you met Sam.”

“So it’s out now?” Castiel says. “The illusion is shattered?”

“Just among a select few,” Kevin says. “Your marriage is actually really popular. Like, _really_ popular, it’s caught on with the imagination of the country in a huge way, like… people want to believe in happy endings, you know? Public opinion of the Council hasn’t been this high in ages. So they want to keep the truth on the down-low, for as long as they can. Everyone wants to salvage this.”

“Your side is saying that Michael moved first by sending his fleet,” Castiel says. “I’ll wager you that Michael’s side will say that you moved first by stealing me and Dean from our honeymoon home.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem,” Kevin says somberly. “But the stickler is this – it’s because of you that Dean got all caught up in this in the first place, right? _You_ found Dean that night, in that bar. Some people are pointing out what a massive coincidence that is. Of all the people you could’ve, um… hooked up with, it’d be the brother of your fiancé?”

“They think I made it happen? I specifically sought Dean out on purpose?”

Kevin laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck. “Coincidences make people antsy.”

“What would I gain out of doing that?” Castiel asks.

Kevin glances over his shoulder briefly, and when he turns back, his mouth in thin with sympathy. “That’s what some people are going to try to find out. I really am sorry about all this, Your Lordship.”

“My king just took your town,” Castiel says. “You do what you need to do. Good night, Kevin.”

“Good night, sir.”

Kevin was almost kind just then, Castiel thinks. It’s nice of him to be thoughtful and somewhat open with information where everyone else has been antagonistic.

It’s a good strategy, and it’s a pity Castiel can’t trust him any more than he can the others. Or anyone else, really.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** Self-harm, where a character tries to break their own tattoo.

Kevin comes by the next morning, carrying an armful of periodicals that he deposits on Castiel’s table. “I thought you might want to catch up,” he says, and then leaves Castiel to explore.

The stack consists mostly of local newspapers going all the way back to the day of the wedding. There are also magazines in full color, a number of which feature his and Dean’s faces plastered all over their covers.

As Castiel browses, there’s a strange sense of disconnect between him and the photographs. He knows intellectually that that’s Dean and himself, but it _feels_ like the images don’t belong to them – these photographed people are polished, confident, and in control of their lives. Dean is eerily photogenic, strong and handsome, with a sparkle in his eye that captures his approachability. In contrast Castiel is an aloof and mysterious prince from a distant land, but he is made relatable by his husband’s broad, white-toothed grin – surely if Dean Winchester cares for this man, then there must be something worthwhile about him.

It’s easy to be swept up in the story when bombarded with such visuals. The photographs from the engagement are controlled and pristine, which was a deliberate choice to mitigate the hasty announcement of the ‘replacement’ engagement. Then there are photographs of the wedding reception, which are ‘candid’ and a little less formal, humanizing the wealthy and powerful from both sides of the sea as they mingle and eat and drink. From this feast of media the public can be smug and satisfied that they’d enabled a loving reunion, which is a vast improvement over what the arrangement had originally entailed.

There are no photos of the wedding itself since there were no cameras allowed in the temple. However, there are a few artist renditions in pencil, and Castiel thinks they’re reasonably accurate, depicting him barefoot and in his robes, standing next to Dean in his suit and combed-down hair, their arms out in front as the cleric winds the binding cloth for them. The drawing seems more intimate than a photo, an intrepid peek into an otherwise private moment.

It’s a technically impressive piece if Castiel views it simply for the artist’s skills. His and Dean’s likenesses are accurate, but it’s more than that – the lighting and use of color is quite ingenious. Castiel’s distantly aware that this is a terrible idea, but he really should observe the drawing more in order to improve his own skills, and so he carefully tears it out for his keeping.

Castiel makes up for that indiscretion by carefully sifting through the rest of the materials for useful information. He reads up on the latest business news, active projects following the arrangement, and projections for the future. There is very little hinting at the build-up that must have let to their current situation, save some reports that the hunters are withdrawing from the defense of the inland borders.

Particularly useful is the map Castiel finds in one of the newspapers, which contains enough detail of the coast that he can narrow down this fortress’ location. He’s reasonably certain this is a fortress or fortified house, because where else would they set up headquarters and keep a valued prisoner? Castiel’s room may be quiet but he can hear activity elsewhere in the floors below and outside the walls – footsteps and voices, vehicles in motion, and the occasional shouting down below. They must be further inland from Ilchester, far enough that they feel secure but close enough that they can return to the town’s borders for scouting and other purposes.

In between Castiel’s reading he takes breaks to meditate and think.

* * *

By the time Ellen Harvelle arrives, Castiel is better prepared. Ellen enters his room alone, and with a gesture of her hand has the others with her wait outside with the door closed. She shakes Castiel’s hand in a solemn greeting but doesn’t move to sit at the table.

“This isn’t how I hoped to see you again.” Ellen is in control but visibly tired, and likely had to forego sleep to manage this little crisis.

“I agree with you there,” Castiel replies.

“This is for you.” Ellen hands over a letter, Michael’s fancy stationery visible the moment she takes it out of her jacket pocket. “I’ve just been to Ilchester to speak to Zachariah, who has taken charge of the town. He asked that I pass that you. Perhaps you wish to read it first.”

Michael isn’t taking any chances, and had the letter charmed for Castiel’s eyes only. It opens under Castiel’s touch, and he reads.

The salutations are brief, Michael immediately moving to the point of the letter: that his only regret is that he cannot be assured of Castiel’s safety. The letter reads as coming from a concerned King, and only speaks of his dismay that the situation has come to this. At the end of it Michael promises that he will do everything in his power to make this right, and that Castiel is to have faith and trust him.

Overall, there is very little that Castiel finds useful or comforting.

“All right.” Castiel puts the letter down. “What is it you wish to say?”

“Zachariah said that he and his people will not leave Ilchester until you and Dean are handed over to him. His Highness wishes to be assured of your safety. Do you wish to go?”

“Dean and I are a unit in your eyes as well as in Michael’s, as our value is in our marriage. Even if I say that I wished to go, you won’t give Dean the same leave.”

“I still have to ask.”

“My answer doesn’t make a difference, so don’t ask simply so you can tell yourself you’ve given me a choice.”

Ellen’s smile is small and rueful. “If everything falls to pieces, you do know who His Highness is going to blame, right?”

“Dean,” Castiel says. “He will be blamed for seducing me from my intended fiancé, and of convincing his brother to run.”

“So you understand why I can’t send him to Zachariah.”

“Because you fear Zachariah will treat Dean the way you’ve treated me. Yes, I understand.”

Ellen does sigh then. “Trust is a luxury, and I am being painted the fool for offering it.” For a moment she seems older, though the flash of regret is swiftly clamped down. Ellen was one of the main driving forces of the agreement between their countries, and its success was to be the crown jewel of her term as Speaker and primary official of the Republic. She gave a speech at their wedding and danced with both of them. Dean’s spoken of her highly many times.

“Come with me,” Ellen says. “Walk with me.”

For a moment Castiel thinks she’s being metaphorical, but she then opens the door and says something to the people outside. When she gestures for Castiel to follow, he does, falling into step next to her while Kevin and Ellen’s eight-foot-something bodyguard trails after them.

There is a long stone hallway outside, with doors at intermittent intervals and a staircase at the far end.

“I’m not surprised there are people at court challenging the validity of your marriage,” Ellen says. “There are dissenting voices everywhere, and frankly, I’d be more suspicious if there wasn’t. They just found a point to push, and Michael chose to respond the way he did.”

“You believe Michael took the town to prove a point?” Castiel asks. “To assert his authority?”

“To his people, as well as to us. How far he’s willing to go remains a mystery I’d rather not explore. The question here is what your level of involvement is in all this.” Ellen has lead Castiel into a room just slightly down the hallway, its large door wide open to allow easy traffic. It appears to be a meeting or work room of some sort, for although there’s a bed at the corner, there are desks, files and boxes everywhere. There’s even a small pantry in a nook, with what smells like coffee brewing.

Castiel tries not to look like he’s studying the room and its possible escape points. “What do you mean?’

“I was assured that Michael’s candidate would be willing,” Ellen says meaningfully.

Castiel gives her a look. “ _Your_ candidate ran.”

“Yes, that one’s on us,” Ellen says, though her quiet anger sounds like it’s directed inwardly. “Did you know that Dean protested louder than Sam did? Didn’t want his brother ‘sold’, to use his own words. All eyes were on Dean not to mess up, so Sam slipped right on through.”

“Dean would do anything to save his family.”

“ _That_ , I know. If I were a better person I wouldn’t have pushed so hard to make it happen. But I did, and here we are, and I’m going to do my best to fix it. But I can’t do that if I don’t have all the information.”

Here they go. “What do you need?”

Ellen turns away for a moment, accepting a cup of coffee that Kevin offers her. Kevin has another one for Castiel – the homely, domestic drink is almost out of place in this impersonal stone and wood building, but that just makes Castiel appreciate the brew all the more.

“Why’d Michael choose you?” Ellen asks.

“I’m expendable,” Castiel says. “I have no cause, and I don’t rock the boat.”

“But you did,” Ellen says. “Your… serendipitous indiscretion gave ammunition to those who protest the marriage and, indirectly, protest Michael himself.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose. I don’t know any other way to tell you.”

Ellen nods, exchanging a quick glance with Kevin as she thinks about this. Whether she believes him or not Castiel can’t tell, though she seems to be the kind of person who’d use more surreptitious ways to learn what she wants. She has spoken to him as a person and has yet to accuse him of anything, but she must suspect him of _something_.

“The field has changed, and the players have changed with it,” Ellen says. “The public believes in you, or at least in what you and Dean represent. No matter which side you’re on or what your real motives are, those in power have to be seen to outwardly support your marriage. Michael used that to land the first royal legion on Republic soil in… what, two hundred years?”

“Thereabouts,” Castiel says.

“As an act of good faith, I’m giving you these.” Ellen pulls out a small stack of letters from a folder. Castiel immediately recognizes them as his own, and snatches them as soon as they’re offered. Ellen says, “Bobby’s team managed to salvage that from the House before exiting Ilchester.”

“Salvage? _Stolen_.”

“Just as your king has stolen our town,” Ellen says. “This is simply where we are now. We need to find a way to move forward.”

“This is not my fault.” Castiel’s letters smell achingly familiar, and he has to force his fingers not to clutch at them too tightly. “The only thing I have tried to do is to be a decent husband to Dean. I have no idea if I succeeded, but I know I am _much_ better than what he could’ve had.”

It is an arrogant thing to say, but Castiel believes it. He _knows_ it to be true, because there are others who would’ve been less kind, less tolerant, less open to discussion. Dean could’ve married someone who’d subsume him, pointed out his flawed edges before filing them down to stubs, and then Michael would’ve had a far more manageable cousin-in-law.

“I think I believe that, too,” Ellen says. “It’s my job – the Council’s job – to figure out the best next step to take. For now, I would like to ask if you’d write a letter to Michael.”

“I’m not lying to my king for you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Ellen says without rancor. “I would just like you to think about Dean, and all the good things that are supposed to result from your marriage. Help us save this.”

Castiel’s desires are simple and selfish. All he wants is to be out of here, to continue his work, to be useful in subtler ways. That said, Ellen sounds earnest, and from her careful wording Castiel suspects that she isn’t pleased with Bobby and Victor’s decisions of the past few days. She as much as admitted that there’s dissent in the Republic side as well, necessitating damage control on all sides.

“Give me stationery,” Castiel says. “And everything I need to seal it.”

“Of course,” Ellen says.

While Ellen has Kevin set things up at a desk, Castiel wanders over to the room’s nearest window. The glass is reinforced, and the view is from five floors up leading into a courtyard of what appears to be a fortified stone house.

There are near a dozen people moving with purpose in said courtyard, and Castiel thinks he can see Dean among them. Yes, that’s definitely Dean in a leather jacket, maybe even the same jacket he’d been wearing when they first met. He is standing with a group of people around a table, poring over what appears to be a map. He’s animated, but not the way he used to be while talking about his favorite movies. His motions here are firm, business-like, decisive. He crosses his arms when he’s listening. He points at people and they nod.

“Dean’s a good man,” Ellen says suddenly, though there’s no way she can tell that Castiel’s watching his husband from where she’s standing. Maybe she could read his expression. “He means well, though he does tend to be short-sighted.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“You won’t hold his recent actions against him, would you? He wasn’t made for this task through no fault of his own. The boy cleans up nice, but he’d rather shoot than dance.”

Castiel feels himself frown, even as he watches the tiny figure of Dean march across the courtyard and out from view. “Dean can dance.”

“Well, yes, but just because he _has_ to doesn’t mean he likes to—”

“Dean can do many things.” Castiel turns away from the window to where Ellen is looking at him in mild confusion. “He is an open vessel, and he processes information as fast as he pinpoints how that information is relevant. He may not fit the typical view of what the role should be, but if you think so little of him it’s no wonder that you don’t believe he can take care of himself.”

“I know Dean’s smart,” Ellen says, starting to sound irritated now, “that’s not the issue.”

“It must be. Or your fear of me – of us – overrides your faith in Dean’s ability to do his job.”

“This _wasn’t_ his job,” Ellen says. “That’s the point.”

More of Ellen’s damage control. Castiel wonders if they really can smooth all of this over, get Michael to stand down and the hunters to back off, and everyone can laugh about it over tea and cake. They’ll return to small talk and shaking hands and offering camera-perfect smiles, while the machinery of the alliance rumbles back to work underneath.

It’s certainly possible. Castiel lets that thought simmer as he sits down at Ellen’s desk to start writing. But underneath that thought is another one – if it’s _this_ easy for everyone to jump at shadows and start pointing fingers, then the foundation the alliance was built on was never strong enough to begin with.

Castiel writes, and feels like a traitor for it – not to the Crown, but to himself. He keeps his tone solemn but not accusatory, painfully aware of the dangers of Michael’s wrath. He thanks Michael for his concern, assures him that he is well, tells him of Ellen’s coming to see him, and voices his hopes that the new talks will be more fruitful.

As for everything else, Castiel swallows it down. It’s more productive for Castiel to save that material for a letter he will one day write to Anna. In that hypothetical letter he will tell her that he’s learning whole new ways to hate this marriage; that he’s been wrong about people before but apparently hadn’t learned his lesson; that he doesn’t know if he has the fortitude to continue to be married to Dean.

“I’m done.” Castiel seals his letter and hands it to Ellen. The motion feels like placing a band-aid on a gaping wound.

“Thank you,” Ellen says. “I’m sorry about the circumstances—”

“No,” Castiel says. “I understand the sentiment, but apologies aren’t going to change that you’re about to return me to that room.”

Ellen exhales slowly. “Yes.”

* * *

Later, in the privacy of his temporary quarters, Castiel unbinds his personal sheaf of letters and carefully sorts them. They’re in the same order as he’d left them in his drawer in Joshua House and none of them have any visible marks of being read, but there’s no dismissing Castiel’s anger at the violation of privacy. These are Anna’s and Balthazar’s words, and goodness knows Castiel has few enough things that are truly his own.

He can’t even bring himself to read them yet. Castiel tucks them away in his bag and lies down.

Instead of thinking about his personal letters, he finds himself thinking about Michael’s. The king’s letter had been so typical that Castiel wonders if he has a set of letter templates somewhere, pre-prepared for every possible occasion so he need merely adjust the names and events, and then sign it at the bottom.

In the quiet of the room, only occasionally interrupted by noises from elsewhere in the house, Ellen’s words continue to reverberate.

Left alone with his thoughts, they fester. They churn and ferment, and turn into other thoughts. Castiel has only the letters and periodicals for company, with brief breaks where Kevin or another boy – apparently instructed not to talk to him – send his meals. Castiel cannot complain about the quality of the food. He meditates, naps, and exercises. He reads the periodicals carefully instead of just skimming.

Elsewhere in the world, important people are talking, and probably making important decisions.

* * *

The next time someone deems it fit to update Castiel on the situation it’s the following morning, and Kevin is delivering a more recent newspaper with Castiel’s breakfast.

The headline proclaims the royal fleet’s arrival, but the accompanying report has the strangest tone. It’s almost framed like a _novelty_ – isn’t it quaint that the king is so protective of his cousin that he’d go through such lengths to make sure that the lovebirds are all right?

Attached to the article as a supplement is a recent picture of him and Dean at the theatre, posing with the company of the play they’d watched. Their faces are soft and content, Dean’s hand around Castiel’s waist, Castiel’s head slightly angled towards Dean’s. Of course they’re content, they’re in love and on their honeymoon. Everything’s all right. Everything’s perfect.

“I need soap,” Castiel says. Kevin jumps a little where he’s still setting up the breakfast. “For my clothes.”

“Oh,” Kevin says, blinking rapidly. “Oh shit, do the spare clothes we got you not fit or—”

“I’d rather wear my own, and manage those. Just give me soap.”

Kevin’s jaw snaps shut, and then he nods. “Yes. Right. I’ll get on that.”

Castiel studies Kevin for a long moment, wondering whether he considers it beneath him to be setting up Castiel’s cutlery and meals. Does he answer directly to Ellen? Is his office just down the hallway, so he’s always nearby? Castiel’s seen Dean talk informally to Kevin, but he hasn’t been in any of the stories Dean’s shared about himself.

“Do you know Dean well?” Castiel asks.

“Uh… So-so, I guess,” Kevin admits. “I got to know Sam when I had an internship with the Men of Letters a while back. Met Dean through him, but not really? He comes and goes, what with being a hunter and all. I guess I only _really_ got to know him when I was brought on to assist with the alliance project.”

“Do you like Dean? As a person?”

Kevin seems to think this a confusing question, but he gives it careful thought. “Yes, I like him, I think he’s a good guy.” He studies Castiel’s face for a moment, as though contemplating how much he can say. “There was a time I didn’t like him very much, ‘cause he was giving everyone a hard time about the engagement, back when it was Sam that was gonna be married. He never said anything _to_ Sam, of course, but I always got…” he laughs a little nervously, “—I tended to be on alert around him. Just to make sure he wouldn’t, you know, _do_ something.”

Castiel takes this in. “You caught us kissing that one time.”

“My worst fears right before my eyes.”

“What did you think?” Castiel asks. “What were your thoughts on that moment?”

“I was panicking, mostly. We put so much work in, I was terrified that it’d all fall apart just like that. So I, uh, I chose to trust that Dean was telling the truth when he said it was just a one-time mistake. I couldn’t afford not to, you know?” Kevin almost sounds defensive. “And it looked to me that Dean was right, ‘cause he didn’t act any different around you or Sam after that.”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?” Castiel says.

Kevin’s face goes funny for a moment. “I guess?”

“Being married is a huge change for him.”

“Oh, oh yes,” Kevin says, almost laughing with relief. “Yeah, Dean’s all bad-ass monster not a domestic at all, but I guess he’s tapping into that for the sake of the bigger picture? Dean’s a good guy, he tries really hard.”

“Yes, he does.” Castiel doesn’t know what point he’s trying to make here. Perhaps seeing the photographs of Dean playing his part so effectively is now jarring instead of satisfying. Perhaps it’s finally sinking in how much Castiel missed or misread during his time with Dean, and if he got _that_ much wrong, how much else did he? He thought he’d been so _sure_ of the kind of man Dean is, of his fears and strengths and easy generosity.

It’s not like Castiel has much experience having these kinds of feelings for someone else. Maybe it’d clouded his judgment, making him feel more knowledgeable than he really is. Maybe it wasn’t even really _Dean_ that he fell for, but the performance. (Castiel thought that Dean enjoys dancing and thrives in a domestic setting, but these people know him better, don’t they?)

“Are you all right?” Kevin asks.

“Do you take other requests?” Castiel says. “I would like some alcohol. At dinner.”

“Um. Beer?”

Castiel levels him with a look. “Something stronger than that.”

“Okay.” Kevin smiles sympathetically. “I think I can arrange something.”

* * *

The arranged marriage was supposed to be a show of good faith and commitment to the agreement, but its currency has increased in value thanks to Naomi’s spin on Castiel and Dean’s story. Instead of marrying for business, they married for emotion, so now other people are justified in responding to it with emotion. Michael can send his ships to show his concern and dedication to protecting the marriage. Ellen and the rest of the Council can keep Castiel and Dean here using the same excuse.

This is just the beginning. He and Dean haven’t even filed their coat of arms yet, and here they are. One can argue that this is just post-wedding jitters, that marriage alliances occur domestically all the time, and it’s only the scale of this one that’s caused its growing pains.

But it’s not going to taper off. It _never_ tapers off with Michael, who pursues his ideas through and despite the consequences. Castiel doesn’t know the Council very well, but Ellen as much as admitted that there’s conflict there as well, and Dean’s said that they keep their true intentions close to their chest. People are pretty much the same everywhere underneath it all.

It’s long after lights out when Castiel slips out of his bed and goes to the bathroom. He sits down on the floor with his candle in its holder within reach. Castiel’s brought Dean’s bracelet with him, the little silver thing that Dean supposedly repurposed as a gift. Also with Castiel are a bucket, a handkerchief, a fork he’d pocketed from his tray, and the little flask of whiskey Kevin gave him at dinnertime.

He’s had all day to think of this. The long productive hours were spent mulling over how he should’ve been braver the way Anna would have been braver, the way Sam Winchester had been braver.

There are good things that can come out of the marriage. It’s enabled people of different backgrounds to rally around a common cause. But is any of it worthwhile if it’s built around a lie? More pertinently, is there a limit to how selfless Castiel can be? Castiel thinks – _yes,_ there is.

Let Michael find some other currency to trade with.

Castiel carefully threads the bracelet through the tines of the fork. It’s crude, and the silver of the bracelet is too low a grade to be very effective, but it’s worth trying.

Ruining the skin isn’t enough to render a marriage tattoo useless, otherwise normal injuries would be problematic. It takes the right ingredients under the right conditions, with the will behind it to make it affective. The proper method is to have a cleric do a full unbinding, but Castiel is improvising, the way many people have done before and will continue to do in the future.

What _most_ people don’t know is that the power of the marriage tattoo resides in the names. The tattoo is old Enochian, the speech of binding interspersed with the names of the people being bound. Castiel spent an hour or so carefully studying the entirety of his tattoo, identifying all the points where his and Dean’s names are written, and circled those points in pen.

Now, under the cover of darkness, Castiel soaks his left forearm in the bucket of cold water, numbing the flesh as much as he can. He twists a hand towel around his right hand, and with it holds the fork and bracelet over the flame of the candle, activating the silver. The whiskey is on standby for later, when he’ll need to disinfect.

There are a number of risks in doing this, but for Castiel the most important one is that Dean will feel it. The closer the partner the stronger the magical backlash, though Castiel’s not sure what the exact range is. He vaguely remembers reading about people fleeing 14 miles before undergoing this procedure, but is that distance arbitrary, or for their physical safety, or to make sure their partner doesn’t notice the effects until it’s completed? Castiel’s knowledge is limited.

But like the other risks, this is one worth taking.

Castiel takes his left arm out of the water and pats it dry. The handkerchief goes into his mouth, and he bites down when he brings the by-now glowing edge of the fork against his tattoo. His movements are sure: a firm press _in_ , and then a sharp pull sideways and out.

Pain is temporary. Hold on to the goal. Castiel blinks away tears and turns his arm over, going for another section. The next two gauges are more difficult, the skin inside his forearm more tender. Castiel suppresses his shout into the cloth between his teeth, and then gags at the next wave of pain.

His vision is swimming, but he has five to go, assuming he got the first three correctly.

A sudden bang makes Castiel jump in surprise. It takes him a second to register the noise as coming from outside, and by then he’s fumbling, dropping his screaming arm into the bucket of water and throwing the fork away to safety.

Understandably, Castiel is not at his best at the moment. His vision is blurry when a figure bursts into the bathroom, and he brings his leg up when they grab at him, shoving his free fist out to strike a firm chest. A strong hand finds his wrist, holding it out of the way, while the other grabs the front of his shirt, almost yanking him up off the floor.

“What are you _doing_?” Dean yells.

This isn’t the time to answer stupid questions. Castiel’s vision slowly clears, and in the dim light of the single candle he sees that Dean is looking around the bathroom, putting two and two together.

Dean’s grip on his shirt slowly relaxes, letting Castiel’s back rest against the wall. Castiel’s starting to feel dizzy, but he unclenches his jaw when Dean tugs the handkerchief out from his mouth. Castiel doesn’t resist when Dean pulls his left arm out of the bucket, studying the evidence of his hard work. Castiel’s fingers are twitching but his arm is steady where Dean holds him still, red rivulets following the broken lines of skin.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean says quietly. “You can’t do this.”

“So you’re going to tell me what to do, too?” Castiel asks.

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, Castiel unsure if Dean’s going to be angry or not. If anything he just seems resigned, all the emotion bled out. That said, Castiel can’t exactly trust his judgment around Dean anymore.

“I’ll be right back.” Dean releases his hold and stands up. He ducks out of the bathroom and Castiel exhales shakily, clenching and unclenching his fist in trying to will down the bright hot pain.

It’s just bad luck that Dean’s in the building. Castiel gets up to clean his cuts in the sink, and once most of the blood is out of the way the sad, _stupid_ result is that only the first scratch broke the main letters. The second and third are too clumsy, worthless.

Castiel exhales slowly and just stands there for a long moment, exhausted and disappointed. The unused whiskey taunts him from the flask, and he grabs at it, taking a long gulp that makes him cough.

Castiel is gingerly patting his arm down when Dean returns, carrying bandages and antiseptic with him. He reaches for Castiel’s arm but backs off when Castiel jerks away.

“I’m not going to leave until I see you wrap that up properly,” Dean says.

It doesn’t seem worth it to protest at this point, especially with the way Dean’s face falls when he notices the discarded fork and bracelet. Castiel takes Dean’s supplies and puts them to good use, trying not to watch the way Dean picks up the fused metal, cradling it in his hands. Castiel wants to say that the bracelet was far more useful this way, but he doesn’t have the energy.

“Doing this won’t help,” Dean says. “It won’t solve anything.”

“My only value lies in my marriage,” Castiel says. “Without it, I don’t matter.”

“But you do, ‘cause you’re Michael’s cousin.” It’s an annoyingly relevant point. “And you know Michael will say we made you do it. Or we did it to you against your will.”

“Why can’t I be selfish?” Castiel asks. “Why can’t _we_? You don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Because it’s bigger than us! ‘Cause we have people counting on us!”

“Let them count on something else!” Castiel replies. “They can start again from scratch, make it from something _not_ a lie.”

“That doesn’t work, we’re in too deep,” Dean says calmly. “You know this. You were drillin’ it in me almost every day.”

“Among all the other brainwashing I’ve been up to, of course.” Castiel tosses the antiseptic tube at Dean’s chest, making him flail, and starts arranging the cotton pieces to be wrapped up. “I’ve been very busy indeed. Seducing my husband, making him sympathetic to my cause and who knows what else.”

“My friends just need to get to know you, okay? Lots of things got… they looked weird from the outside is all, and that whole thing about you being an alchemist? I really have been working on it, trying to convince ‘em I’m still me, I still got my marbles.”

At this moment, Castiel doesn’t care about that. His arm is roaring in pain, he didn’t manage to break the tattoo to make said pain worthwhile, and now Dean gets to watch him clean it up. Dean is standing _right there_ , his eyes so focused, his voice pitched low and worried and defensive, and Castiel didn’t prepare for this.

“Cas, you know I’m trying,” Dean says. “Ellen says they’re getting somewhere with the talks, they’re basically renegotiating the marriage contract, but it’ll get resolved, you’ll see—”

“I don’t want to be married to you anymore,” Castiel says.

“Oh.” Dean swallows, the sound audible in the quiet. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” Castiel spins on him accusingly, anger rising up like lightning through his spine at the sheer _gentleness_ of Dean’s speech. “Don’t sound like you’re sorry. You ran away from me, you don’t get to feel bad.”

“There’s an anti-royals group,” Dean says suddenly. “Sam’s joined an anti-you guys movement, and he was gonna out the whole story in _my_ name, thinking he was rescuing me. I had to get out of the House to stop him, it would’ve ruined everything, it would have ruined _you_. Cas, he’s my brother, he’s in so much shit with everyone and I have to help—”

“I’m sure it’s very gripping, but I don’t have it in me to be sympathetic right now,” Castiel says. “Let Sam reveal the lies. It’d be a relief.”

“Their ultimate goal is kicking out every one of you guys off the Continent,” Dean says. “And the Wall to go back up.”

That’s a lofty goal. Castiel finishes tying up the bandage and sighs. “Why hasn’t he done it yet?”

“I’ve made contact with him,” Dean says. “He says he’s holding back for now, but I’m also thinking they might be waiting for the best moment to do it. You know, for the biggest impact.”

“Fine.” Castiel pushes past Dean out of the room, and weaves over to the bed. He sits down, carefully pressing down on the bandages to ease the ache. “Off with you to your matters of worldly importance. I shall be here until it’s all over.”

“I’ll get you out of here.” Dean’s hovering awkwardly in the middle of the room. Castiel only just realizes that he’s dressed simply, in sweatpants and one of his pop culture shirts. He must have been sleeping when Castiel woke him up. He is beautiful. “They’re overreacting. It’s so stupid, I know.”

“It _is_ stupid, especially since if any brainwashing was done, it must have been done by you.”

Dean starts a little. “What?”

“You have more experience with relationships. You know the ins and outs of that playing field, and you have skills in getting people to like you. You would not be susceptible to a stranger trying to manipulate you – you’re a Hunter, for goodness sake. So if there were manipulations going on, you must have done it towards me.”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

Castiel thinks he may be partially delirious, but it makes so much sense as he says it. “All my years on this Earth and I’d never – I’ve never _wanted_ …” He’s still dizzy. The alcohol and endorphins kicking in, perhaps. “I’ve been content with my lot my entire life. What are the chances that my fiancé’s brother, the man I would under strange circumstances _marry_ , would be everything I ever wanted, and everything I didn’t know I could want? What are the chances that would happen?”

Dean stares at him.

“Miniscule,” Castiel agrees. “Ridiculously miniscule. Ergo, it’s more likely that it was done on purpose, and that you filled that role to your own end.”

Dean’s still staring. “What do you mean, I’m everything you ever wanted?”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re going to use _that_ against me now,” Castiel scoffs.

“But…” Dean looks upset. “But you said the marriage was just an agreement, that—that we’re just allies, no attachment, you said so!”

“Yes, yes, I’m a hypocrite, don’t rub it in. Stop talking to me. I could be brainwashing you right now. I need to sleep.” Castiel glares at him before pointedly lying down on the bed and turning away to face the wall.

If Castiel could, he’d fall asleep right at that moment. But he can’t because his arm hurts like _fuck_ , the residual burn happily roiling in his skin, a reminder of another failure in a list of failures. Castiel stiffens when Dean’s footsteps approach the bed, though it’s only followed by the faint noise of something being placed on the bedside table.

“Painkillers,” Dean says quietly. “If you want.”

Castiel keeps his eyes shut and breathes. It’s only once Dean’s gone, locking the door behind him, that Castiel rolls on to his back and grabs at the bottle of medication.

* * *

It’s difficult to sleep, and Castiel keeps getting woken up every so often by the charming raw burn in his left arm. More than once he’s tempted to rip off the bandages and soak his arm in water, but he manages to resist.

Morning arrives too soon, and with it clarity of what Castiel’s done. He’s already in trouble, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any opportunity for more trouble. When there’s a knock at the door Castiel sits up, makes sure the sleeves of his shirt hides the bandages properly, and waits.

It’s only Kevin, who’s brought with him the day’s breakfast and another newspaper. He smiles at Castiel and doesn’t say anything about moving Castiel to other quarters, or confiscating his things, or taking him in for questioning.

“Morning,” Kevin says. “I brought a hangover drink just in case. My mom’s personal recipe. Think you might need it.”

Castiel must look awful. “Thank you. Your mother’s made you hangover cures?”

“Not that I deserved it, but yeah.” Kevin grins. “It works wonders, and you can quote me on that.”

“Thank you.” Castiel gets up and approaches the table cautiously, trying not to let on that he’s trying to keep a few inches of air padding between his arm and his body. “Anything new today? Are the talks still going on?”

“A couple more Council members coming out today,” Kevin says. “There wasn’t enough people yesterday to make a decision, but I think it’s looking good. They’re hashing out some new terms.”

“That’s good.” It’s probably useless to ask Kevin what Michael’s asking for in order to preserve the peace, so Castiel doesn’t.

Once breakfast is served, Kevin takes his leave with nary an ominous word. When nothing else happens over the next few hours, Castiel is forced to conclude that Dean hasn’t told anyone what happened last night. Castiel’s action is not something that Dean can defend, not when Castiel’s lesser sins have provoked drastic measures.

Maybe Dean feels sorry for him, for Castiel’s failures aren’t just fork-related – they include what he’d admitted out loud to Dean in a low moment. It says a lot that Castiel is unable to feel embarrassed about that; his only regret is in his handing over yet another weakness for Dean to use as he likes.

Or maybe they’re too busy to deal with Castiel because they’re occupied trying to settle the issue of the anti-royals and Sam’s affiliation with them. _That_ is something Castiel has definitely not heard about before, and now that his head has cleared some he can ponder that line of thought further. If Ellen was telling the truth, then there’s a huge difference between privately disliking the marriage and openly opposing it. Depending on how important the alliance is to the powers that be, to oppose the marriage would be seen as rebellion.

Do they have treason laws here in the Republic? Sedition laws? Having Sam Winchester as a figurehead sounds like a wet dream or a nightmare depending on which side one falls on. And if Michael knew about it, he’d want Sam captured or publically denounced before considering maintaining the alliance. Michael is consistent that way.

In Castiel’s worst thoughts, he finds it fascinating that there are extremists in this country as well. People really are the same everywhere.

Castiel holds that awful thought in his head and draws himself a bath. If no one’s going to punish him for almost ruining the alliance then he might as well have a long soak, which will also hopefully help with the heinous ache in his arm.

* * *

Maybe it’s revenge for Castiel’s waking Dean last night, but the following night Castiel’s startled awake by banging on his door, which his sleep-addled brain is unable to process because it’s not like the lock is on _his_ side of the door.

But that _is_ someone banging on the door, followed by muffled voices, and then the door’s shoved opened with rather more force than is necessary. Castiel pushes his head off the pillow and squints. Is there news? Some new crisis? Has Naomi come to rescue him?

Two figures lumber into the room, one of them flailing a hand in Castiel’s direction. “Cas!” Dean exclaims.

Castiel sighs. “What?” Then, with more alarm, “What is it?”

That’s Dean and Victor approaching him, but Dean’s partially propped up, his arm over Victor’s shoulder. Castiel immediately gets up, scanning for visible injuries, but he can’t see anything worth worrying about. But Victor’s face is pinched, almost apologetic, and when Dean comes close enough Castiel realizes it’s because Dean’s been drinking.

Dean’s breath is sweet and foul, his smile exaggerated. Castiel has barely any warning before Dean’s flinging an arm around him, pulling Castiel tight against the solid warmth of his body.

Castiel’s back strains under the sudden weight, and he glares over Dean’s shoulder at Victor. “What is this?” he hisses.

“He wanted to see you,” Victor says, backing off now that he’d dropped his load into Castiel’s arms. “It was either this or let him make an ass of himself in front of people.”

Castiel scowls. “This isn’t—”

“It’s movie night, Cas,” Dean slurs, his hands strong as they clutch at Castiel’s back. “We haven’t finished our marathon.”

Victor starts to back away, but Castiel snaps, “Don’t you leave. I’m not going to be blamed for whatever happens, you’re my witness.”

Is this some trick? Some new test of character? There is simply no wisdom in letting Dean visit Castiel like this, drunk or not, so what could its purpose be? It doesn’t help that Castiel’s first inclination is that this is genuine, that it’s Dean’s frustrations that lead to his getting drunk, because he does like to do that sometimes. That said Castiel’s only ever seen Dean drunk in moderation, and never enough to be handsy like this.

Castiel’s knees give way under Dean’s weight and he drops back onto his bed. Dean follows the motion clumsily, still grabbing at Castiel like an oversized dog, and via his drunken machinations arranges himself lengthwise on the bed, shoes and all, with his head in Castiel’s lap.

Victor is on the other side of the room, sitting at the table, face partially turned away. The door is closed. Castiel has no idea what to do, and sits stiffly while Dean sighs and rubs his cheek against Castiel’s thigh.

“What do you want?” Castiel asks.

“Wanted to see you,” Dean says.

“This isn’t a place to find sympathy.”

“I know,” Dean says, with such gentle awareness that Castiel almost shoves him off onto the floor. “I know you hate me.”

Castiel has to stare at the far wall. Dean sounds wretched, and his face would be more so. It is too dangerous. “Dean, I can’t comfort you.”

“I’m supposed to take care of _you_ ,” Dean says petulantly, and only slightly tripping over his syllables. “Am supposed to protect you. Can’t even do that.”

If Castiel was weak before, then this is evidence there are still new lows that he can descend to. He is angry, but that anger feels like a separate, displaced thing – a shadow just hovering over his shoulder. He knows it’s there, he knows its relevance and necessity, but in this moment it refuses to engage, leaving him defenseless and open to other unnecessary emotions such as worry – _worry!_ – for this man and his broken declarations.

“I’m not your responsibility,” Castiel says.

“Yes, you are,” Dean insists. “You _are_.”

Castiel is unable to spot the lie in this, not in the way Dean’s voice cracks or the way his fingers clutch at Castiel with a desperation that sets goosebumps up Castiel’s neck. Maybe it’s because Castiel wants to believe so much that it’s not a deception, but what would that hope serve? There is too much of Dean that is unknown.

Yet Castiel remembers being so _sure_ about Dean. Their careful navigation around each other in Joshua House meant having to be so attuned to each other’s moods. Surely that cannot all have been faked? Castiel remembers Dean’s frustration, joy, anger, distance, and although he hadn’t always understood the reasons for Dean’s moods, he’d still been able to see them. He’d been so sure, and Dean’s strangeness _can_ be explained by his difficulty in maintaining the subterfuge. And try as Castiel might, he can’t find anything dirty in his memories of Dean’s making love to him. That kindness had to have been genuine.

But this may be part of Castiel’s denial. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Our marriage is part of an agreement,” Castiel says. “And terms of an agreement can change.”

Dean has an arm looped around Castiel’s back, and he pulls tight, briefly pressing his face into Castiel’s stomach. Dean’s next words are very faint: “I want to keep you.”

Castiel almost kicks Dean away from him. How dare he say that, how _dare_ he. Castiel breaks his resolution and looks down at Dean, who is gazing up at him from Castiel’s lap, his eyes soft and sad and full of longing. It’s everything that Castiel’s wanted and not wanted from him, and it pisses Castiel off. Dean doesn’t deserve to feel sad, doesn’t deserve to say that Castiel is worth keeping when barely anyone else in the world has thought the same. Castiel hates being weak.

“Well, you can’t always have what you want,” Castiel says.

Dean snorts. “Story of my life.”

That’s it, that’s the line, Dean’s just crossed it. Castiel’s head snaps up and he calls out wordlessly to Victor – take Dean, take him away, get him out of here. Worse than the possibility of Dean doing this to take advantage of Castiel is the possibility of Dean’s pain and guilt being real, because if it is real then Castiel will be lost all over again. Castiel will want to comfort him and cherish him and need him, but Castiel will also have to accept that he can do none of those things.

Dean protests but Castiel pushes him away, over and back to leaning against Victor, Dean’s head lolling against Victor’s shoulder as he drifts in and out. Victor opens his mouth, perhaps to apologize, but Castiel cuts him off.

“You’re supposed to be his friend,” Castiel says. “You say you’re looking out for him? Then _look out for him_. Don’t let him compromise himself.”

Victor has the decency to look abashed. “He’s quite pushy when he—”

“You’ve ignored his requests before, it shouldn’t be hard,” Castiel snaps. “If I meant ill then you’ve just given me a huge chunk of ammunition. Never let this happen again.”

Victor holds Castiel’s gaze for a moment, and then nods.

Dean’s still making protesting noises but Victor drags him out of the room. Castiel even helps close the door behind them, and leans against the wood for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.

* * *

Breakfast is late the next morning, and when Kevin arrives, he isn’t alone. He has a young woman with him, and they’ve brought with them Castiel’s breakfast, a newspaper, and a suit bag. The suit bag is of concern, but recognition has Castiel rounding on the woman first.

“You’re one of my kidnappers,” Castiel says.

“Yes, Your Lordship,” Jo says quickly, bowing deep. “I’m truly sorry about that.” She stands up, hands clasped in front of her, and says nothing else. No more excuses, no more questions.

“Why are _you_ apologizing?” Castiel asks. “Where is Victor? Bobby?”

“They’ve been reprimanded for their actions and sent away for the time being.” Jo’s delivery is polite, dry, well-rehearsed. Castiel wonders if her mother personally gave her this task. “There will be a formal apology of course, but for right now the priority is concluding the new talks.”

Kevin steps forward, presenting a letter. “This is for you.”

Castiel takes the envelope and opens it, dismay coiling like lead weight in his stomach when he sees that it’s a written invitation for tea. For _tea_ , at the behest of Lord Zachariah and Ellen Harvelle and some other people, to be held at an address that Castiel doesn’t recognize. Dean’s name is next to Castiel’s – the invitation is for them both.

“I am to be seen in public with my husband,” Castiel says faintly. “This is a condition of the talks.”

“Yes,” Jo says.

So the majority of Castiel’s kidnappers are sent out of the picture to save face – because that’s what one does with pieces that are currently inconvenient – and Michael’s representatives are to be presented with evidence of Castiel’s well-being. Everything’s settled. Nothing’s settled.

Castiel meets Jo’s gaze but she is difficult to read, layers upon layers of neutral. “You’re assured I will comply with you?”

Jo hesitates. “You may request your compensation.”

Castiel’s pretty sure Zachariah has already done that on his behalf, whether or not he knows about Castiel’s treatment over the past few days.

The eyes that viewed Castiel with suspicion must still be doing so, because here he is, being given smart clothes to wear and told he may leave without a single comprehensive interrogation or explanation. From their point of view, Castiel has affectively helped Michael push back his advantage, and what is the Crown trying to achieve now? More property on the Continent? A naval base on the coast? And what will Michael try to get next?

Brush the mines under the carpet and pretend they’re not there. At least, until the next person’s leg gets blown off.

“Yes, compensation,” Castiel says. “It’s unfortunate that your colleagues have been sent away. Dean should have his supporters by his side, especially considering that his brother has yet to be found.”

“Oh, yes,” Jo says. “We’re still trying to track Sam down.”

“No hints yet?”

“Sadly, no.”

“A pity.” Castiel busies himself folding up Zachariah’s letter, the action masking a rush of triumph that he can still tell when someone’s lying. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with that yet, aside from internally cursing Dean for being so careless as to tell him what Sam is up to. Dean shouldn’t have given Castiel something he can use, what was he thinking?

But for now, Castiel has to go back out and play husband again.

“You,” Castiel says, and Kevin practically snaps to attention. “You’re helping me get dressed.”

“Yes, sir,” Kevin says.


	3. Chapter 3

After a thorough shower Castiel takes some time to shave, working the razor as slowly and carefully as he only ever bothers for special occasions. Once that’s done, he studies his reflection and tugs the edges of his hair. He will have to trim it soon.

Castiel changes the dressing on his arm, wrapping it carefully and firmly with the leftover bandages, and then pulls on shirt and pants. Outside, Kevin is waiting for him with the rest of his ensemble.

“Do I need to instruct you?” Castiel says.

“No, sir,” Kevin says. He’s silent as he helps Castiel into his jacket, buttoning down all the appropriate pieces and putting on Castiel’s cuffs. No tie today. Kevin stands back to scrutinize his appearance. “Looking good.”

“That is the goal.” Castiel takes a deep breath. This will be done. “Let’s go.”

There is still a guard outside Castiel’s room, though he falls in just behind them as Kevin leads Castiel through his first sort-of-proper tour of the building. In other circumstances Castiel would be asking plentiful questions of the history and significance of this house. Today he takes note of the well-maintained passageways and stairs, noting that this is a house with much communal use. Kevin leads him through a large presentation hall where there’s a crest on the wall. The badge is unfamiliar, but there is a gun in its design – a hunter family owns this house.

They go down flight after flight of stairs, and eventually reach the open of the grounds, the sky above their heads.

Dean, Jo and some other people Castiel doesn’t know are already there, though their chatter dies and their faces turn when they approach. Castiel’s appearance must be satisfactory, because these bystanders drop their gazes from him before bowing. Some are discomfited.

“We can…” Dean clears his throat. “We can go, if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Castiel says.

There is a car waiting for them. An impractical thing, tall and bulky, with tinted windows. Dean opens the door, letting Castiel in first. Dean sits next to him, and the driver is already in the front. Behind them are a couple of other cars start their engines – their escorts, no doubt.

Castiel has had mostly silence for company these past few days, but this is a very different kind of silence. It is awkward and rejuvenating, and Castiel revels in it.

“So…” Dean says. “What’s the plan?”

“You tell me,” Castiel says.

“I mean what do we say if people ask about the honeymoon?”

“What do you want to say?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Castiel is looking out the window, but he knows that Dean has to be at least a little annoyed, even if it goes against his self-consciousness of the situation they’re in. Castiel imagines that Dean is struggling to find something non-antagonistic to say that would get a proper answer from Castiel.

Silence fills the car. It stays there like an oppressive weight, slowly and surely settling in the air of the space they’re in. Castiel watches the unfamiliar scenery goes past – they’ve left the grounds already, and for what feels like ages there are no signboards or landmarks to tell their journey. The only noises from Dean’s side of the car is the rustle of his clothes.

At long last trees turn into a clearing, into the edge of a town – Ilchester, though it is a part that Castiel hasn’t seen yet. They pass through a checkpoint, guarded by officers wearing Zachariah’s livery. After that their car bypasses the main road towards what Castiel immediately knows has to be their destination. He sees the flags first – tall poles set into the ground to show off Michael’s banner. Closer still and the sea finally comes into view, and along with it the encampment.

Zachariah has deigned not to use any of Ilchester’s buildings, and has instead erected his own. There must be a dozen tents at least, many of them small but some as large and grand as a house. Their purpose is to awe as much as to be functional. Michael’s ships are visible in the distance, ominous and tall on the ocean surface.

All this imagery is both familiar and foreign, rather like hearing a favorite song in another language. This isn’t the royal court but it’s a slice of it on someone else’s soil, and that sense of visceral displacement almost stops Castiel from stepping down from the car. But he does, because he must. He doesn’t have time to regress to a child being paraded at court by power-hungry cousins.

A sideways glance reminds Castiel that Dean is there as well. Dean has not seen any of this before. Castiel could tell him so many things – the meaning of the flags, why the tents are arranged the way they are.

“This way, sirs,” a young man says, leading them to one of the tents just outside the main ring of activity. There is a carpet path for them to walk on, because of course there is. The tent they’re deposited in is furnished as a sitting room, with desks, chairs, hanging tapestries and a full-length mirror.

Mary is in the tent, and she stands up from her chair when she sees them. She’s wearing a brightly-colored dress today, her hair is loose and her jewelry sparse – apparently her purpose today is to appear harmless. Her eyes are on Castiel when Dean kisses her cheek. Castiel bows, but doesn’t approach.

“This won’t be long,” Mary says. “Zachariah just wants to see both of you together, and then you can leave.”

She is doing an excellent job of masking her nerves, but there is a reason that Dean lingers by her side, brushing his hand against hers in an offering of comfort. Castiel turns away from it, amused that Dean’s mother knows no more than he does of what’s to happen today. Castiel’s been thinking of Dean as the wildcard in this arrangement, but now he is one, too.

“Is anyone gonna brief us?” Dean asks. “Ellen?”

“She’s staying close to Zachariah,” Mary says, which isn’t really an answer. “Just wing it.”

“Wing it?” Dean echoes. “We have a couple of warships on our doorstep and you want us to wing it?”

“Honestly, that makes more sense than some of the other suggestions going around. The more we try to control the story the more it takes a life of its own.” Mary turns to Castiel. “Whatever you choose to say, we’ll understand.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Who are you speaking for?”

“Myself and my husband.” Mary glances up at Dean, and Castiel wonders if the softness of her gaze is for Dean’s benefit or to garner Castiel’s sympathy. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Beyond the cloth door are noises of chatter and cutlery. Castiel already had his moment to center himself, but Dean now takes his, going to the mirror to study his reflection and muttering to himself as he fixes his hair. The combed-down look is nice but inaccurate – a description which can be used for a great number of things here today.

“Okay,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Okay. Let’s do this.” He finally approaches where Castiel is already standing ready. Dean heads straight for the flap to push it open, but Castiel grabs his arm as he passes, a quick snatch of Dean’s wrist that has him flailing and turning back to Castiel, shocked. “What.”

Castiel tugs firmly, and Dean takes the hint to come stand by Castiel’s side. They stand together facing the doors, shoulder to shoulder, husbands as far as everyone else cares. Behind them, Mary makes a small sound.

A last touch is Castiel’s moving his hand into Dean’s, threading their fingers together. Dean, who had been almost vibrating suddenly goes statue-still. Castiel gives him a moment to settle his face.

“We are happily married,” Castiel declares. Dean swallows audibly.”Now we may proceed.”

They move forward together, pushing the flap open. There is an usher stationed there, and he helps them pass through the flap easily, bowing as they pass.

The party is in full swing in the grand tent, some two dozen or so people standing around holding small plates and cups. A polite hush spreads when Castiel and Dean’s presence is announced. It’s funny – Mary told them to ‘wing it’, but that had already been Castiel’s intention coming here today. His goal is gauge the crowd and see how the proceed from there. Castiel waits to see who will approach them first.

The answer is Zachariah, his suit sharp and his smile sharper. He bows, and Dean at least remembers enough of their lessons to incline his head instead of bowing in return.

“Cousin,” Zachariah says, drawing in to kiss Castiel’s cheek. Zachariah then smiles at Dean, though his eyes flicker down to where they’re still holding hands. “So wonderful that you could join us. The newlyweds are looking well.”

“Thank you,” Dean says.

“We try our best,” Castiel says.

Zachariah waves a server to bring them refreshments, and stays close by as they indulge in the usual inane small talk. The conversation is unimportant because what Zachariah’s really doing is measuring them up, drinking in his fill of their presentation and deciding what is to be used and what is to be relayed back to Michael. Castiel releases Dean’s hand to allow him to eat, but keeps that hand around Dean’s waist, even as Zachariah introduces them to his officers.

“Ah, Ellen,” Zachariah says, smiling when she approaches. He takes her hand in between both of his before shaking it firmly. “This is wonderful. So wonderful. Thank you for taking care of our dear Castiel.”

“You’re welcome.” Ellen’s tone is polite, but Castiel is watching Zachariah’s eyes. There is a challenge there amidst his amusement. Zachariah knows something of how the hunters have behaved these past few days, and of Castiel’s treatment. Ellen’s expression is alert and cool – she must know that Zachariah knows. This has been the push and pull of their talks.

Zachariah has ships just off the coast, and still has this town under control. A word from Castiel, and Zachariah could take more. Ellen knows this, Dean knows this.

“How have they been treating you?” Zachariah asks.

“Their hospitality is as excellent as yours,” Castiel says. He smiles at the flash of annoyance that passes over Zachariah’s face, and deliberately leans towards Dean. “My husband is everything you’d hoped he’d be.”

“Good.” It takes Zachariah a moment to recover his jovial front. “Excellent. You really should allow us to pay homage to you, Master Dean. Everyone is so looking forward to meet you. It’s not the same reading it in the papers.”

“You owe us a week,” Castiel says. “Our honeymoon has been cut short, and we will have it replaced.”

“Yes, of course,” Zachariah says. “It’s only proper. Will you remain at Chambers House?”

Castiel doesn’t know that name, and it’s Dean who speaks up just then: “We haven’t decided yet. There isn’t much privacy at Chambers.”

“Of course, yes.” Zachariah nods solemnly. “Well, Joshua House is still here, if you wish to reclaim it. Actually, you could take one of our ships, one of the smaller ones. You can go full traditional then, just the two of you anchored off-shore.”

“That’s an idea,” Castiel says.

“Do you know what’s another idea?” Zachariah says. “Those charming interviews you gave just before the wedding. Those were sublime, everyone I know just went crazy over them. How about you do another now that your honeymoon is over? I mean, almost over?”

“Naomi took charge of those,” Castiel says. “Where is she?”

Zachariah makes a regretful sound. “Ah, she’s returned to the capital. Important business.”

Castiel frowns. “What could be more important than this?”

“Plenty, dear boy,” Zachariah chides. “The world does not revolve around you two, as much as it may feel that way right now.” Except Naomi is Michael’s right hand in managing the alliance, and she should be here to talk to Ellen, Dean and the others in person. She should be squeezing Castiel for information and telling him what to do next.

“I can arrange for another sit-down,” Ellen says. Castiel’s hand is still on Dean’s back, so he feels the way Dean tenses. Another interview means more smiling, more stories, more packaging up their images for the world.

“Excellent!” Zachariah exclaims. “May I have a word with my nephew? I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Dean says. He gives Castiel a small smile. “I’ll be here.”

Castiel follows Zachariah when he steers them away, two of his officers hovering nearby to keep their bubble relatively sequestered. Zachariah isn’t a senior lord but he’s practically peacocking right now, the King’s regent on a temporary settlement.

“So,” Zachariah says in a low voice. “Did they starve you?”

“Do I look starved?” Castiel snaps. “No, they did not.”

“Pity. They would have more to atone for if they had. His Highness will be pleased to know that you’re doing well, regardless.”

“Now will you take your ships away?”

“In due time.” Zachariah reaches over to pat his arm, and Castiel deserves an award for not backhanding him. “Let me worry about that. Just make nice with your husband and in-laws. He is attached to you now.”

“Who, Dean?”

“You’ve done very well.” Zachariah’s smile does not change, but there is some sly meaning there that sends a chill up Castiel’s spine. “I’m proud of you.”

Castiel doesn’t ask Zachariah to elaborate. His words are meant to provoke, though Zachariah laughs to himself when Castiel doesn’t take the bait. His uncle then smoothly segues into a declaration on how interesting the past few days have been, and how fruitful the new round of talks are.

“Rachel is around here somewhere,” Zachariah says. “Get her to help you. They won’t deny you anything.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

Zachariah drops his voice meaningfully. “You have leverage, so use it. Push back, get something for yourself. Heaven knows that’s what I’ve been doing.” Now that is unfair. All Castiel wants is to be free of all this, and neither the Council nor Michael can give him that. Zachariah shrugs at Castiel’s lack of enthusiasm. “Or don’t. You never could appreciate the bigger picture.”

“The bigger picture involves your setting sail with a fleet in secret,” Castiel says. “And taking one of their towns.”

“Indeed, I have. Strange, isn’t it? So easy. Oh, don’t give me that look, we’re family now. Dean is my nephew, Ellen is my… cousin somehow, I’m sure. Borders are getting blurry, and really, isn’t that the goal of the agreement in the first place? Chin up. Go to your husband. Smile. You are a very handsome couple.”

“Yes, I will go now.” Castiel turns and starts walking without waiting for Zachariah’s response. Dean and Ellen are where they left them, though now they’re talking with a tall man Castiel doesn’t immediately recognize. Dean’s head comes up when Castiel approaches, and he frowns a little when he sees Castiel’s face and waves at a server for a drink.

“Tea, thank you,” Castiel says. He smiles apologetically at Ellen. “Family. You know how it is.”

“Zachariah is your uncle, isn’t he?” Ellen asks. “Are you close?”

“Not as close as I’d like,” Castiel says. Dean doesn’t snort, but the sound he makes is close enough. Ellen seems to think Dean’s being funny all by himself, and shakes her head faintly in reprimand.

Dean clears his throat. “Cas, you remember my grandfather.”

“Samuel,” Castiel says, recognition kicking in. “Yes, good to see you again.”

“Your Lordship.” Samuel is in full hunter regalia today which seems a little overkill, but what does Castiel know. “So glad you could make it. I was just telling Ellen that another video interview is a great idea. We could have it here, the tents against the backdrop of the town would be very appropriate.”

Castiel frowns. “You want to do the recording today?”

Dean says quietly, “Then we can get back to our honeymoon.”

“Ah, yes.” Castiel nods. “The quicker the better.”

There are other people that they need to be presented to, so Ellen brings them around one by one. Most of them are people Castiel’s met before: ministers and officers from both sides of the sea, all of them offering nothing more than uninteresting small talk and useless condolences for their honeymoon having been cut short.

Through all of it Dean is at Castiel’s side, polite and subdued. He keeps his arm folded against his side, Castiel’s hand tucked in its crook. Castiel doesn’t care that Dean is quieter than normal. Castiel’s job is to be present and presentable. Others can worry about everything else.

 

* * *

 

They’re told to wait inside one of the residential tents while preparations are made for the interview. In theory they could use this waiting time to discuss what to say, but Dean doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk. At least, Castiel assumes so, because he hasn’t a word since they’d been left here.

Truth be told, Castiel is too busy contemplating what he should do next. Naomi’s absence is more worrying than the ships. Although brutal in her methods she has always been upfront about her beliefs and her goals. Her mentor was instrumental in bringing the Wall down and she’s inherited his passion, opening the agreement talks and strong-arming Castiel into being its figurehead. She is Michael’s right hand but also his mastermind, and the only person that could take her away at this important juncture would be Michael himself.

There’s a clatter, and when Castiel turns Dean has knocked over some items at the writing desk. He ducks his head like a caught schoolboy, his mouth twisting in embarrassment. He’d had that look around Mary, and again around Samuel.

A thought occurs to Castiel as he recalls that conversation with Mary’s father and Ellen. “You didn’t tell them that Zachariah used to be my guardian.”

Dean looks up in alarm. “Was I supposed to?”

It should be strategically important for Ellen and her people to know that the man who’s taken their town has personal history with Castiel. “Never mind.”

“Did I break protocol?” Dean asks.

“I said never _mind_.” Castiel turns away, berating himself for speaking up when the silence was just fine. Dean, usually so talkative and restless, is keeping himself in as small a space as possible, out of Castiel’s way. Dean should be pushing back. Dean always pushes back, even when Castiel is angry – _especially_ when Castiel is angry.

Castiel almost wishes that Dean would. Then at least he’ll know that Dean isn’t treating him any differently just because he knows Castiel has feelings for him. Castiel doesn’t need delicate handling, thank you very much.

The door flap rustles when it opens, letting Rachel in. A smile lights up her face when she sees Castiel, though she is professional enough to bow instead of taking a hug. She looks well, back in her pantsuit and wielding a clipboard.

“They’ve brought in the video crew,” Rachel says. “It’s a tad disorganized without Naomi, but we’re managing. How are you, sirs?”

“Good, thank you,” Castiel says.

Rachel looks between them uncertainly. “Shall I tell them that you’re ready? Chuck is here, so it’ll be… it _should_ be straightforward.”

They agree that they’re ready. Castiel knows that he is as he’s always been. There is no physical script but he can make do with the unspoken one. Once the call comes he takes Dean’s hand again and they go, following Rachel’s lead to the grand canopy that has been set up for their use.

The setting is similar to the interview they’d given before their wedding. There is the camera and lights and a crew, and the coat of arms of both their families are displayed in front of the tapestry couch they’re supposed to sit in. The open canopy means that the town can be seen in the background. Goodness knows how they were able to arrange this so quickly, unless this crew has been on standby. Castiel wouldn’t be surprised.

“Your Lordships,” Chuck says, bowing. If he was nervous the previous time he is close to a heart attack today, constantly glancing over his shoulder at Ellen and Mary as he explains the technicalities of what they’re about to do. Zachariah isn’t here but a handful of his officers have chairs nearby, watching the proceedings with interest.

After microphones are put on them they’re told to sit down. Dean sits on the couch first, fixing his cuffs absently as he makes himself comfortable. Castiel’s about to sit down as well when Chuck hisses, “Dean, you sit on the left.”

“I’m good, thanks,” Dean says.

“But the banner behind you is…” Chuck sighs when Castiel sits down.

The assistants come forward for some final touch-ups, and one of them – after stuttering out her request for permission – places their arms together in a casual pose. They’re still sitting up straight, still dressed to impress, but Dean’s arm is over Castiel’s, and his hand resists in a loose circle around Castiel’s wrist. Castiel wonders if Dean sat on the right to ensure that Castiel’s injured arm is out of the way.

It isn’t Pamela managing the camera today, but Chuck is familiar enough as a host and mouthpiece. Castiel doesn’t need to rehearse in his head. He will know what to say when Chuck prompts him.

“Welcome back, your Lordships,” Chuck says. “And so soon. Actually, too soon.”

“Definitely too soon,” Dean says. “In fact I’d say we’re downright cheated.” He laughs, and Chuck laughs, and Castiel starts to laugh but misses the beat and covers quickly by offering a smile.

“How has Ilchester been treating you so far?”

Castiel opens his mouth.

“Good,” Castiel manages. “Very good.” Chuck is still looking at him.

“It’s been amazing,” Dean says. “I’ve been here a couple times before but never for such a long stay and with, you know, with such great company. We’ve been staying up on the Hill, the view is spectacular. And everyone has been so great, so friendly. We couldn’t have picked a better place.”

“Will you be staying here on a more permanent basis, then?”

Dean chuckles. “Man, I don’t know, I gotta talk with Cas about that one.”

Castiel realizes that that pause was meant for him. “I… wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, I’ve been showing Cas around,” Dean says. “And by ‘showing around’ I mean introducing him to the food, ‘cause I’ve got my priorities on straight.”

This shouldn’t be _difficult_. The role Castiel is to play is clear: he is married, he is in love, he has just come out of his honeymoon. For all intents and purposes, all three of these facts are true. Yet he hears the pauses too late, and can’t spot the openings to chip in until they’ve passed.

“Cas is great like that,” Dean is saying. “Always up for trying something new, right, and there’s so much we’re learning about each other.”

“Oh,” Chuck says, nodding encouragingly. “Like what?”

“Like… like Cas here, he finds everything so interesting, even the things he doesn’t get. I mean, I’m not the most patient guy in the world but Cas can just… he can _look_ at things for the sake of looking, like – like he finds beauty everywhere. Up on the Hill there are these gardens, right, and yeah, they’re cool, I guess, but at first I couldn’t get why Cas liked to walk through it every other day. I mean, it’s not like the trees _change_ , right? But Cas marvels at things – small things, big things. After a while I felt like I was starting to see the world through Cas’ eyes, and there’s so much more to see that way.”

Castiel’s face is warm. When did Dean even have time to notice Castiel’s morning walks?

Chuck opens his mouth, but Dean continues, “I mean, I just said that patience isn’t one of my strong suits, right? But Cas has tons of it. I mean, when I fell for this guy, I just fell for _this_ guy, I wasn’t counting on everything else.” Dean waves a hand over his shoulder, gesturing at the banners, the canopy, the general circus of recently. “Cas has been incredibly patient with me and my, uh… my commoner ways.”

“It’s not difficult,” Castiel says. He clears his throat, modulating his voice into something more friendly, “It’s not a chore to be with Dean at all. In fact I’m grateful that he is so different from me. He may say that _I_ introduce him to a different point of view but it very much goes both ways. I am enriched from being in his presence.”

“Corrupting presence,” Dean says blithely.

“Don’t do that,” Castiel says, side-eyeing Dean. “Don’t sell yourself short, it’s very annoying.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t deserve you.”

“What, and I’m that much better than you?”

Dean grins at Chuck. “Sometimes he forgets he’s a prince.”

“And that matters?” Castiel scoffs. “You’d prefer me if I _wasn’t_ a prince. A position is merely a position, and it isn’t something you or I celebrate in itself. It simply is, and we adjust our relationship around that fact.”

“Hey, even if you weren’t a prince I still wouldn’t deserve you.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. I was patient with you? _You_ were patient with me. I can be difficult, yet you gave me your time and your care, and you found joy instead of exasperation in your attempts to find a common language between us.”

“Language?” Chuck asks.

“A language of shared experiences,” Castiel says.

“What Cas means is that we’d do things together,” Dean says, “like every day things, and that’s how we got to know each other better. Practical, like.”

Chuck laughs softly. “Ah, so you’re just like everyone else then, sirs?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “We eat, we sleep, Dean made me watch science fiction television serials.”

“ _Made_ you?” Dean laughs. “C’mon, you dig it.”

Castiel lets his eyes flicker sideways before turning them back to Chuck. “As much as I dig your cooking.”

“Oh!” Chuck exclaims in surprise. “You cooked?”

“Uh,” Dean says. “Some. You know, just simple things.”

“Dean made me a dish of my homeland,” Castiel says.

Chuck smiles. “I bet that was amazing.”

“It was terrible,” Castiel replies. “Worst I’d ever had.” Chuck double-takes, while Dean’s thumb – which had been moving idly against Castiel’s pulse point through most the interview – goes still. Castiel is buoyed by whatever nameless energy has loosened his tongue, swept up in the magic of this performance where he feels no desire to untangle truth from the lie. In this moment it doesn’t matter which is which. “Yet I ate all of it. Every mouthful.”

Chuck’s expression clears. “Because your husband made it?”

“Because my husband made it,” Castiel confirms. “It doesn’t matter that it was an abomination of a meal. What matters is that he put effort into moving away from what is familiar to him, to take a chance on something new. I’m not saying that intention is more important than the result, because that’s not always true, but for that particular instance, it was. In that particular instance, the only thing of value is that this man – _this_ man – did something risky and unfamiliar, solely for the purpose of... making me happy. That is the kind of man I have married. How can I not be humbled by it?”

That was a mouthful. Castiel has been keeping his eyes on Chuck through it, which is an excellent excuse as any to not have to witness Dean’s reaction.

“So it was more important that he tried at all,” Chuck says.

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “He tried. And honestly, it is no chore at all to return that effort and to try the results of his work, even if it wasn’t to my taste.”

“Which is what marriage is all about, isn’t it?” Chuck says. “Trying.”

“Yes.” Castiel steals a glance sideways, but Dean isn’t looking at him. Dean is looking at off-camera – at Mary and Ellen? – and he is wearing a smile that has an edge of smug viciousness.

Then Dean turns, and Castiel’s breath catches. Dean is unerring in his ability to see through Castiel, so Dean will see him now and know that Castiel still adores him. Despite everything. Everyone else can think what they like, but Castiel’s fear is to receive Dean’s pity, so he averts his eyes before he can see it.

“Married life is full of surprises,” Castiel fumbles.

“Yeah, totally,” Dean says. Castiel’s heart is thundering too loud to be able to decipher any meaning in Dean’s tone. “That’s what makes it interesting, right?”

Chuck changes the topic then, deviating the conversation to lighter, neutral things. They talk about the wedding reception, Ilchester, the play they attended. Dean is calm, friendly and laughs at all the right places. Castiel smiles when  he can.

 

* * *

 

 

There is an argument going on about where Castiel and Dean are to stay tonight. There may be no raised voices but it’s still an argument. They’re back inside the guest tent, but the flap is open and voices are drifting in from beyond.

It’s getting dark outside. They’ve been at Zachariah’s encampment for hours, and Castiel is itching to open his starched collar. Zachariah is insisting that Castiel and Dean stay here, but Ellen is cutting that thought off with as much politeness as she can manage.

Castiel sits up when Samuel enters through the flap. He inclines his head politely at Castiel and then turns to Dean with, “There’s a message for you. Might want to take it quick, that way.”

Dean nods a thank you and goes, only glancing briefly at Castiel before he disappears through the open flap. They haven’t spoken much since the end of the interview, nothing more substantial than a question about the bathroom and if the other is hungry. Castiel should not feel a pang when he’s left alone with Dean’s grandfather instead.

“Your Lordship,” Samuel says. He hasn’t made a move to leave.

Castiel sits up. “Yes?”

“I offer my apologies for the events of the past few days,” Samuel says.

“You had nothing to do with it.”

“I’m a member of the Council,” Samuel reminds him. “All big decisions like that should’ve come through us. We didn’t approve Dean’s fleeing the House, or them taking you, but we should have seen it coming and prevented it. I should have taught Dean better.”

“He’s not close to you,” Castiel says. “I doubt you had much influence on him.”

Samuel’s poise is flawless, and he takes the rebuke with an amused curl of his mouth. “That’s true. But I did raise Mary, and I am as much a hunter as they both are.”

Castiel doesn’t point out that there are as many hierarchies among hunters as there are in the nobility, and that Dean has very little care for Samuel’s style of hunting. Better to accept Samuel’s statement for it is and reply, “I understand all of it. When hands are forced, people react. Sometimes paranoia pays off, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Samuel says. “It’s come to my understanding that you didn’t want to participate in this any more than my grandson – either of my grandsons – did.”

“That’s irrelevant now,” Castiel says.

“That will never be irrelevant,” Samuel says, with a touch of anger that makes Castiel wonder if he was among those against the agreement. Samuel shakes his head, as though to clear it. “Where would you like to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“The talks haven’t concluded yet so you and your husband need to stay nearby. Would you like to remain here or return to Chambers House?”

The question is unexpected. It takes a second or so for Castiel to process it. “I will go where I am needed to.”

Samuel glances over his shoulder to where the outside discussion is still going on. When he turns back to Castiel he has taken a few steps closer, and his face is dark with a deliberate warning. “I’ve heard that His Highness is coming here.”

“Michael?” Castiel says incredulously. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“It’s what I’ve heard. I doubt there will be any official announcement, any more than there was one for the fleet that came before him.”

“But...” The king does not move without purpose. The king can use Castiel and Dean as an excuse. Zachariah has effectively prepared Ilchester to hold the full royal court.

“This isn’t open knowledge yet,” Samuel says. “My sources might even be wrong. But I thought you would want to know.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “You may tell Ellen and Zachariah I don’t mind returning to Chambers House tonight.”

Samuel bows and takes his leave. Castiel is still shaken when Dean returns, scowling to himself in the way that always has something to do with Sam. Sam is part of an anti-royal rebellion, which is brewing somewhere on the continent. If the king himself comes here, then… At this point Castiel’s imagination fails him.

Dean is sitting with a hand covering his mouth and staring off to the middle distance. Whatever goes down in the near future, as long as Sam is involved then Dean is going to bear a brunt of it.

“Dean,” Castiel says. Dean starts, head snapping up. “I’m tired, I want to go. Can you make them hurry up?”

“Sure,” Dean says, standing back up. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel’s mind is so preoccupied that he completely forgets to care that Zachariah was forced to concede and they’ve returned to Chambers House, the place of his recent imprisonment. He doesn’t go back to that room, of course, because that would be stupid. Instead he and Dean are lead to a grand bedroom on the first floor, as large as their rooms at Joshua House, with a view that’s almost as attractive.

All of Castiel’s few things have been moved to the bedroom, including his backpack with its innards untouched. Castiel doesn’t care to explore the bedroom more than that, and heads straight for the bathroom while Dean putters around behind him.

While he undresses, he tries to convince himself that he’s once again blowing everything out of proportion. Sam and the rebellion – which Castiel still doesn’t know the full strength of – would surely not attempt a stunt while the king himself is here. Michael doesn’t react well to contempt, everyone knows this. Dean is surely making headway in getting through to Sam and getting him to stand down. Surely.

Just before Castiel gets into the running shower he realizes that he’d forgotten to bring fresh bandages in with him. He puts on a robe and steps back out, hoping to ask Dean where they can be found.

The bedroom is empty and the door at the far end slightly ajar. Castiel should get back to the bathroom, but it occurs to him that with the shower running, Dean must think he’s in there right now. Castiel creeps to the door, his bare feet silent on the carpet, and is able to make out faint voices in the room beyond.

“No one’s blaming you,” a female voice – _Mary_ – is saying, in an exasperated tone that makes Castiel thinks they are retreading a familiar argument. “It’s our fault for throwing you in when we should’ve—”

“I’m not asking you to feel bad about it, Mom,” Dean says. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Dean,” Mary says gently, “I believe that you believe he cares for you—”

“They’re not all the same. Cas is nothing like Zach, nothing like Naomi.”

“They wouldn’t have chosen him if he isn’t in on their plan, it just makes no sense! You do realize what they’ve accomplished already, don’t you? They’ve got a _beachhead_ on Ilchester right now. And they’ve called our bluff – they know we can’t move against them.”

“That’s not Cas’ fault.”

“What if you’re wrong about him?”

“What if I’m right? What if Cas is being played just like the rest of us?”

“We can’t take that risk. Dean.” There’s a rustle of movement. “Dean, they’re his family. Even if he is as much in the dark as we are, his loyalty belongs to them. That’s not a bad thing! He _should_ be loyal to his family.”

“I’m his family now, too.”

Mary curses softly, and when she next speaks her voice is hoarse. “Dean, are you forgetting that the marriage isn’t real?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Castiel tries to picture his face but fails, for he has no idea what Dean may present of himself as he says these things to his mother. Castiel once said that very same thing to him – that their marriage is just an arrangement – and he’d thought that Dean successfully internalized that. He shouldn’t be speaking to his mother this way.

“I’m sorry,” Mary says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

Castiel pulls himself away, unable to listen to the rest of it. He’s disconcerted enough as it is, and he cannot handle this on top of that. A part of him thinks he should be pleased in hearing Dean defend him, but the feeling doesn’t come. All he can hear is Dean arguing with his mother, whom he loves as dearly as he loves anyone, and that’s not right. Just as it’s not right that Dean didn’t tell them about Zachariah’s relationship with Castiel, when he should have told them everything.

Castiel completes his shower without any other distractions, and when he exits the bathroom fully dressed, it’s to the sight of Dean pulling out his sleepwear from a bag.

“I need help changing my bandages,” Castiel says.

“Oh.” Dean stands up. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean follows him into the bathroom, and Castiel watches him in the mirror as he gets to work with the cotton.

Castiel’s used to feeling helpless, even if it pisses him off. It also pisses him off that he can read helplessness wafting off of Dean as well, in his quietness, his suppressed frustration, his exceeding caution in minding Castiel’s space. Castiel doesn’t want to think about what it might have been like for Dean these past few days, to be almost unheard and almost unseen – and by those whom he’s supposed to trust. Castiel thinks Dean might be used to this as well in his being told he is the grunt, the less smart one, the one who cannot be trusted to know his own mind.

“How’s Sam?” Castiel asks.

“Digging his heels in,” Dean says, after a beat. “Got that message earlier that he wants to see me in person. No can do right now, kid.”

“Then he must close by, if he can send you a message like that.”

Dean’s smile is shrewd. “Yeah. My mom just dropped by to tell me that she’s going after him herself. Remember when I said I thought Sam is waiting for the best moment to speak up against the marriage? Seems like a good moment now, don’t you think?”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, you can’t tell me these things.”

“Why not?”

“Because I could use it against you and your people.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

Dean looks up, scowling as he meets Castiel’s eyes in the mirror. “You’re right, I don’t know that for certain. But I’m okay with taking that chance.”

“You shouldn’t be. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“ _Now_ who’s being ridiculous?” Dean snaps. “I know you. Even when I don’t understand you, I know you, and that’s not who you are.” His chest heaves when he breathes. “Was my dish really that bad that night?”

Castiel blinks at the change of topic. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“But you just told it to…” Dean’s mouth snaps shut when he realizes the meaning. “And you ate it. You finished the whole goddamned thing even when you hated it, because of me. Fucking hell, Cas, I thought you were upset with me ‘cause I triggered you ‘bout your childhood or something.”

“That, too.”

Even though Dean barks a bitter laugh, his hands are still gentle where he’s tying off Castiel’s bandage. He backs up to give Castiel room to leave, but Castiel is compelled to stay. He is compelled to study Dean’s face, the way he’s crossed his arms, the wary look he’s now casting in Castiel’s direction.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” Castiel says. “Anything.”

The request seems to send a ripple through Dean, culminating in sudden stillness. Right there is the focus and intent that Castiel knows, Dean’s eyes sharp as he turns Castiel’s demand over in his head. There is something akin to hunger there, too, as though the invitation is threatening to unlatch something Dean has been holding close to himself.

“Anything?” Dean says quietly.

“Yes.”

Dean’s mouth open and closes. Uncertainty almost makes him look away, but he seems to steel himself. “There was a time when I didn’t know if you’re real.”

“I said something about you, not something about me.”

“This _is_ about me. Look, people lie. You know this pretty well, right? It’s the way things are. The higher the stakes the bigger the lies, and this marriage is pretty damn high-stake, don’t you think? But every day in that House – actually ever since we first met – every instinct has been telling me that you’re the real deal. That this is all that you are.”

Understanding dawns. “Yet your head was telling you that that can’t be true. That I must have some scheme to use you.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking of that, you’re the worst liar. But there had to be something else, and I was waiting for the shoe to drop. After all that work, after all of the Council’s and Naomi’s plotting to get this off the ground… Cas, I’m in way over my head and I’ve been scared as fuck that I’m gonna mess it up. I felt like I couldn’t trust myself to read you right, ‘cause what I was reading was... almost too good to be true.”

“How does that make sense?” Castiel asks. “We _fought_ , Dean. We see things differently, and I hurt you more than once.”

“That’s when I knew it couldn’t be an act! You really are just…”

“Completely earnest,” Castiel says flatly.

“Well-meaning.”

“Yes, I’ve been told this is a flaw.”

“Jesus, it’s not a flaw,” Dean says in a rush. “It’s one the best things about you. But this thing, this thing where we’re _married_ … You said it yourself, it doesn’t happen like this. Good things don’t come out of a thing like this.”

“So you understand me,” Castiel says. “You know exactly how I feel right now about you.”

Dean reels, falling backward with an outward rush of breath. Castiel didn’t say that to be cruel, and Dean seems to understand that, nodding tiredly. “You don’t – you _can’t_ – believe anything I say right now, and that’s good. You shouldn’t.” Dean takes a deep breath. “You should look out for yourself, Cas.”

“I always do.”

Dean ducks his head. “’Course.”

They were supposed to be allies yet here they are, Dean unable to look Castiel in the eye, and Castiel unable to look away at all. Strangely, Castiel feels closest to understanding Dean in this moment than he has at any other – Castiel has felt that same skepticism, that same suspicion, that same disbelief. Dean wouldn’t be a good hunter if he couldn’t see the situation from as many angles as possible and perform the necessary risk assessment.

In some ways, Bobby and the others were right. Castiel has seduced Dean – again, by accident. He has moved Dean to the point that he is putting himself in danger. Castiel has been moved by him as well, and is in danger of… something. He isn’t sure what could be more dangerous than falling for this man, but he still feels that threat there, taunting him from just around the corner.

Castiel leaves Dean in the bathroom without another word, and after a moment there’s the sound of the sink being turned on. Returning to the bedroom also brings Castiel back to the admittedly petty dilemma of the night, i.e. there’s one bed. Castiel is struck with the mental image of Dean getting huffy and argumentative and stubbornly making himself comfortable on the floor, so he quickly grabs a pillow and a spare blanket from the cupboard.

By the time Dean exits the bathroom Castiel’s already curled up on the tapestry couch near the wall. He’s pulled his blanket way up to his shoulders and his eyes are closed, and does not react when Dean mutters, “Dammit, Cas.”

Sleep is a long time coming when Castiel is worried.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content warning:** Self-harm for magic purposes.

Dean is still asleep when Castiel wakes up the next morning. Castiel’s shoulders are a little stiff from sleeping on the couch, but nothing that a few stretches cannot fix. After using the bathroom he goes to the window at the far end of the bedroom, slipping behind the curtain to see the view.

It’s a different sight from the one from Ellen’s room. This window faces the grand wilderness surrounding the House, just beyond the tall brick fence that marks the perimeter. It’s still early, the sky painted the pale grey of morning and birds chirping their morning song from the trees.

Castiel tries to open the window but the latch doesn’t give. Close inspections confirms that it’s not sealed, so he gets a good grip on it and starts pushing. The fourth, maybe fifth time, Castiel realizes that it’s probably not a good idea to get so angry first thing in the morning, and for goodness sake it’s just a _window_ , yet at the same time it’s just a window and why should a window conspire to make his life more difficult?

Castiel jumps when the curtain rustles and is pulled back, revealing a bleary-eyed Dean. He smells of sleep and musk, and his voice is dry croak when he says, “It goes up, not out. C’mere.” He reaches over and snaps the latch a vertical angle, and the glass edge pops, letting in cool morning breeze.

“I want to write some letters,” Castiel says.

“Mmm,” Dean says groggily. “”Kay, lessee what we got.” He yawns and scratches his stomach as he ambles through the room, finding the writing table and poking at its empty drawers.

“Do you not know where everything is kept?” Castiel asks.

“Whah?” Dean squints at Castiel through sleep-heavy eyes. “Oh. Never used this room before.”

“You slept elsewhere?”

Dean nods. He smacks his lips and rubs behind his neck, and Castiel doesn’t know how it’s possible to find someone utterly endearing and utterly irritating at the same time. “Downstairs. Somewhere there.” He waves vaguely at a direction. “Let’s find someone to harass.”

“Brush your teeth first.”

“Okay.”

Dean’s more conscious after freshening up, and then Castiel’s following him out of the bedroom into the sitting room beyond. There’s another writing table here, this one actually stocked, and Castiel sits down to work while Dean opens the curtains.

“You wanna have breakfast first?” Dean asks. “We usually have it in the main hall.”

“I don’t want to get dressed.”

“Point.” Dean drops into a chair and regards the phone on the table curiously. “I wonder if there’s room service.”

The answer to that is a technical yes, because Kevin ends up sending breakfast to their rooms on an honest-to-goodness trolley, much to Dean’s mirth. Apparently Dean didn’t know Kevin has been attending to Castiel this way either, because he’s openly surprised that Kevin has brought a newspaper with him, handing it over to Castiel with a jovial, “That’s a local one. It tends to be faster with the news around here.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “Do you know what my agenda is today?”

“Uh, sorry,” Kevin says sheepishly. “Ellen’s still prepping to head back to Ilchester to see Zachariah. She didn’t say if you guys are to follow along.”

“We’re probably on standby, then,” Dean says. “Gotta be ready to be dolled up at any time. Anyone interesting still hanging around, Kev?”

Kevin makes a face. “Don’t look at me, dude, I only work here.” He bows and takes his exit.

Castiel tidies up his letter – he hadn’t gotten very far with it, only the salutations – and joins Dean for breakfast. It’s supposed to be awkward, but they’re both at the stage where their priorities are food and coffee. Yesterday was about as bad as it gets, really. Whatever the case, Dean grabs things with his fingers and knocks over the salt shaker and takes the last sausage after flicking his fork at Castiel asking for permission.

“Do you want to see the rest of the House?” Dean asks. “The view from the roof is awesome.”

“Would that be wise, considering the rest of the building’s inhabitants?”

“Do you actually give a fuck?”

Castiel considers this. “No, I don’t. Fine, you may take me around later.”

* * *

Chambers House belongs to the Chambers family, an illustrious hunting clan loosely affiliated with the Harvelles. It isn’t their primary home but still functions as a stronghold, and has over the years become something of a hunters’ pass-through point. According to Dean there are a handful of hunter bases like this all over the country, the most massive belonging to the Campbell family.

Castiel follows Dean as he walks through the passageways, listening as he explains. “So it’s like a commune.”

“Sort of,” Dean says thoughtfully. “There are some people who stay here on a permanent basis, but there’s not many. More like, the Chambers have an on-going open invitation to anyone who needs a place to stay?”

“Anyone who’s a hunter.”

“Ah. Yep.”

Their room hadn’t been guarded when they left it, and although they’ve only seen a handful of people so far, no one’s made any move to stop them. (Some scurry out of the way, others freeze in place before belatedly bowing.) The lack of enforced borders is apparently invitation enough to go around the building as they like, and Dean’s making good on his promise to take Castiel up onto the roof.

It’s later in the morning now, their breakfasts well-digested and their clothes changed. Well, Castiel’s changed his clothes; Dean just threw a flannel shirt and pair of jeans on top, though judging from the other people Castiel’s seen wandering around this place that might be the actual dress code. If there is meaningful activity here, it must be going on outside or in rooms where Castiel cannot see.

“It’s hell during rainy season,” Dean says, heaving for breath as they climb the final turning staircase. “But other than that it’s pretty cool.” There’s a slanted door at the end of the staircase, and it opens easily when Dean pushes.

Once upon a time the Chambers House must have been quite the fortress. The roof and wall-walk must have housed archers and other soldiers, but now it’s covered with potted plants and old rusty metalworks. Dean picks his way through the man-made jungle to a relatively clear spot, glancing over his shoulder as he goes to check that Castiel is following.

“The coast is that way.” Dean points. “Can’t see it on a clear day ‘cause we’re too far out, but when the winds are strong you can almost smell the sea.”

“Sounds like wishful thinking,” Castiel says.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Dean leans against the parapet. The wind manages to flick his short hair as he stares outward. “The highway is over there.”

“Do you come up here often?”

“Not really, no. If I want peace and quiet I usually just drive.”

“Where is your car?”

Dean turns, squinting against the wind, and points at another section of the House. “Somewhere there. There’s a courtyard on the other side, she’s there with the others.”

“Happy reunion, then?”

Dean’s mouth quirks a little. “No scratches on her, so I can’t complain. Victor did a good job.”

Castiel knows that, in part, Dean is doing this because he is restless. Dean wants to be out there doing something useful, settling the issue with his brother and so on so forth. Castiel understands the sentiment, just as he understands that Dean will make do with being here because that is what is expected of him for now.

For a while nobody speaks. Castiel presses his hands against the stone of the battlement curiously, studying its texture. Dean leans against the parapet, his chin propped up on his hands, and watches the late morning activity in the grounds.

It’s a different silence from yesterday. Everything seems distant and inconsequential from up here – all the trees and people down below, all the people far away who are making decisions about their future. Dean is cold in only his shirts but is making as though he isn’t, holding his arms tight against his body as he stubbornly enjoys the fresh air. For all of Dean’s chatter and noise, he has many such quiet moments in him as well. Dean is plentiful. Dean hasn’t made any attempt to dispel Castiel’s accusation that his behavior in Joshua House was a performance to obtain Castiel’s affections. Either he has decided that there’s no point in defending himself, or he is glad to take Castiel’s anger, believing himself deserving it.

Does it matter, at this point, whether it was a performance or not? Castiel has already fallen for him, and is disappointed in himself for it either way.

“Don’t talk rudely to your mother,” Castiel says after a while. When Dean makes a surprised noise, Castiel adds, “I overheard a part of your argument yesterday.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. “Having an opinion isn’t being rude.”

“Your mother is just worried about you. You know best when to push your case and when to back off, of course, but this is bigger than both of us.” Castiel huffs under his breath. “I know I keep saying that, but... I fear that lines are going to be drawn again, and I believe your mother knows that as well.”

“Yeah, well, Mom and Dad didn’t listen to _their_ parents.” Dean shrugs carelessly. “Sometimes they’re wrong.”

“Naomi has been removed. She should be at the new talks, but she isn’t. As far as I can tell, Ion and Virgil have been sent home as well.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that the talks have a new captain. Zachariah’s goals are not Naomi’s. I would tell you to be on guard, but I believe you’ve been on guard since before we even said our vows.”

Dean nods absently. “Do you, uh... Do you ever think about before? Wondering how things might’ve turned out if you’d done something different?”

“Yes,” Castiel says. “But I also believe now that none of our choices would’ve made a difference. Not in the long run, not with all the rest of it going on.”

To Castiel’s surprise a veil of calm settles over Dean’s face, as though some small weight has been lifted at hearing that said out loud. It is then that Castiel wonders how much Dean’s been blaming himself for the turn of events of lately, and how much the people around him might been slipping that blame onto him, whether purposely or not.

“It sounds so freaking paranoid in my head,” Dean says quietly. “Thinking that maybe we were set up to fail? ‘Cause I don’t roll with that at all.”

“I imagine not.”

Both of them fall silent again, and they turn back to admire the view.

* * *

It is a slow, restless day.

They leave the roof after a while, mostly so that Dean can take Castiel down to the House’s massive kitchens to find themselves a snack. Benny Lafitte is there for some reason, wearing an apron and a ridiculous chef’s hat as he wrestles with one of the pots. When Dean asks, Benny uses a ladle to point at one of the ovens for Dean to poke around in.

Castiel doesn’t have anything to stay, so he just stares at Benny with a faint frown while Dean grumbles and helps himself.

“You want the same thing, Cas?” Dean asks. Castiel nods and Dean goes on his merry way, finding cutlery and cutting out slices of meat.

It is odd to see Benny in this new setting. Castiel is curious as to who is managing his bar, but he doesn’t voice his question out loud. No doubt Benny thinks it’s odd to see Castiel like this as well, after being privy to his bumbling first meeting with Dean.

There is a strip of bacon dangling from Dean’s mouth when he approaches with his plate of successful sandwiches. “Hey.” He follows Castiel’s gaze to Benny. “Oh hey, you remember Benny, right?”

“Did he plant the idea that I seduced you when we met?” Castiel asks.

“What?” Dean says.

“I’m right here,” Benny says. “And no, that wasn’t me. That was all his buddies’ doing.”

“Shut up,” Dean says. “Bobby got kicked out already, all right?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Benny drawls, “if he’d _asked_ , then I’d have told him what went down between the two ‘o you on your meet-cute.”

“Don’t ever say meet-cute to me ever again,” Dean says.

“I don’t know what meet-cute is,” Castiel says.

“You don’t want to know,” Dean deadpans, grabbing Castiel’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

They wind their way back through the stone passageways of the house, Dean not in the mood to introduce Castiel to anyone and Castiel not in the mood to be introduced. Castiel may have bigger rooms and a companion, but the situation is pretty much the same as what it’s been. At least Dean can find books from elsewhere in the House to tide them over.

Rachel visits them later in the afternoon, sent by Zachariah to check on Castiel’s well-being and hand over Castiel’s latest batch of letters. She isn’t all that happy with the current arrangement but can’t find anything to complain about in Castiel’s new accommodations.

“You told Zachariah everything of before,” Castiel says. “What happened at the House, and after the House.”

“As I am supposed to,” Rachel says.

“I’m not berating you for it. I’m just trying to get as full a picture as I can.”

Rachel glances sideways at Dean, who is lying on a couch with a hand over his eyes. He has his Walkman’s headphones on and has been supposedly listening to his music, but Castiel doesn’t care if he’s really eavesdropping or not.

“Yes, I reported everything,” Rachel says. “Naomi and Ion weren’t there, so I had to be debriefed by someone.”

“He asked about my relationship with Dean?”

Rachel frowns. “Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” Castiel still feels uneasy at the way Zachariah has spoken about Dean, but it’s inevitable that he would’ve learned that they’ve become… Friends? Loosely familiar with each other? Castiel’s at a loss for the appropriate term to use, which is amusing considering their honeymoon was supposed to have been their opportunity to figure that out. “You may go.”

There is no other news from Ilchester until after dinner, when Samuel comes to see them. Restlessness has compelled them to take a walk in one of Chamber House’s quieter courtyards – in view of the building’s many windows – which means that Samuel is mildly irritated by the effort it takes him to find them.

“Do you have to take a walk at _night_?” Samuel asks.

“Fresh air is fresh air,” Dean says with a shrug. “What’d you got?”

Samuel’s mouth is a thin line as he passes a handwritten message to Dean. Castiel watches Dean scowl as he reads.

“I can walk Castiel back to your rooms,” Samuel says.

Castiel frowns. “What does that mean?”

“I have to make a phone call,” Dean says, folding up his letter. “It’ll be a sec. Thanks, gramps.” He slaps Samuel on the shoulder before darting off, and Castiel really should not laugh at Samuel’s stiff smile at his grandson’s lack of decorum.

“That’s Dean for you,” Castiel says.

“He knows I don’t like it, which is why he does it.” The sleeves of Samuel’s button-down have been rolled up his elbows. The result is that it draws the eye to the thick lines of his marriage tattoo, and Castiel has to resist touching his own arm to check if the bandages are still there. Samuel asks, “Have they been treating you well?”

“Considering it has only been a day since I last saw you, there hasn’t been much time to develop a list of grievances.”

Samuel takes the rebuke with a faint smile. He tilts his head in an invitation to walk, and Castiel falls into step beside him. “There was some headway in the talks today but that bottom line remains elusive. Zachariah is adamant that Dean perform homage.”

“Naturally.”

“Do you wish for him to go?”

Castiel gives Samuel a questioning look as they pass under an archway. “It depends on what’s the real question you’re asking. Are you asking if I believe it’s politic for Dean to go, or if it’s safe for Dean to go, or if Dean will perform admirably before His Highness?”

Samuel huffs under his breath. “Any? All of the above?”

“I do not have sufficient information to give an answer.”

“Which is an answer in itself,” Samuel says amiably. They walk in silence for a while, and then he says, “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you’re not what I expected.”

“I hear that often.”

“No, it’s…” Samuel sighs. “We’re all so wrapped up in ourselves that we forget that the collateral damage goes both ways. Dean – originally Sam – is a means to an end, as are you. Sometimes I wish we could start over. You know, from scratch.”

“But it can never _be_ from scratch. There is too much history between our nations. It’s too easy to turn to distrust.”

“I suppose I’m an optimist.” Samuel stops suddenly, glancing down at his watch. “Damn it. I just remembered I have to – you know your way back, don’t you? I forgot, there’s supposed to be a discussion with the others heads to… My apologies, Your Lordship, I need to take my leave.”

Castiel bemusedly accepts Samuel’s apology and watches him take off – not all that unlike the way Dean just did, really. Everyone has somewhere they have to be, except for Castiel, who is…

He looks around. Castiel hadn’t really been paying attention to where they’d been walking, for walls are walls and everyone else knows this building better than he does. Yet he’s standing in a section he doesn’t recognize, the passageway beyond and behind him dimly lit. Samuel had gone forward, and Castiel thinks that the main hall is that way.

Yet just to the left there’s a passageway that branches off. It’s slightly hidden by the angle of the wall but it is there, and when Castiel checks the wooden door he finds it unlocked, the barrier free of the charge of protective warding. Beyond the door is dimly-lit pathway and the trees beyond – faint nighttime animal noises croon at him from the thicket.

Castiel takes a deep, steadying breath. He closes the door and carefully sets the latch back. He walks up the passageway, not all that surprised to find it’s a really _long_ way round to the main hall, and by the time he finds someone to direct him back to his rooms he’s alight with anger.

Dean is standing in the middle of their sitting room when Castiel barges in. He whirls around, relaxing when he sees Castiel.

Castiel beats him to it: “Dean, did you ask your grandfather to enable my escape?”

Dean double-takes. “What?”

“You _know_ how dangerous that would be. I may have asked you to do that for me once, and I do appreciate the sentiment, but the time for that has passed.”

Dean still looks bewildered. “Wait, Samuel? Really?”

“It’s nice that he’s sympathetic over the forced marriage, but he must know you will be blamed if I leave now.”

“Sympathetic?” Dean echoes in disbelief. “Dude, it was Samuel who volunteered Sam in the first place.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Mom never said so outright, but I’ve been picking things up. Seems that when the Council was putting candidates together, grandpa and a couple of others pushed for Sam. I figured it was ‘cause he wanted the Campbells to get a leg in for... rewards, loot, whatever. It’s kinda what they do, to be honest.”

“Why would your parents go along with that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they honestly thought it’d be the best for Sam’s future.”

Castiel studies Dean’s face closely. “Do you really believe that? I remember your mother being upset that you would take Sam’s place.”

“They didn’t do it to punish him, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Dean says defensively. “My parents wouldn’t do that to him out of spite.”

“Then what if it was damage control?” Castiel says thoughtfully. “What if they felt marrying Sam off was the only way to... protect him?”

“Protect him from what?”

“From where he is now.”

It takes a beat, but horror slowly dawns on Dean’s face. “You think Sam was already part of the anti-royal movement before he got engaged?”

“The talks have been going on for over a year now. There must have been fears about what the agreement would mean for your country – just look at how difficult it was for the Wall to come down. I’m sure there’s been an anti-royal sentiment for centuries, and it only received a boost once talk of an agreement formed.”

“But who looks at a kid with anti-royal feelings and says, ‘Hey, the way to cure that is to marry him off to one of them’?”

“It does clear your family of suspicion,” Castiel says. “The Winchesters, the Campbells. None of you would be suspected of participating in subversive action against the Crown since you were willing to share one of your own to the cause.”

“But that means...” Dean scowls. “Dude. You’re accusing my grandfather, a _Council_ member, of…”

“Sabotage?” Castiel supplies. “I’m reasonably sure I didn’t imagine him leaving me next to an unlocked door. As a Council member he should be well aware of the consequences.”

Dean’s expression is fierce, but he doesn’t protest his grandfather’s innocence. He sits down, runs his hands through his hair, and makes a low sound of frustration. “Maybe…” Dean shakes his head in wild contemplation. “Maybe he changed his mind and feels sorry for you now.”

“He feels sorry about _something_ ,” Castiel says contemplatively. “Ellen told me that there are those within her ranks who didn’t want the agreement. I assume it’s because they expected it to be less fruitful than Ellen believes. That’s another thing both our sides have in common.”

“Just peachy,” Dean mutters.

There seems to be nothing else to add to that, so Castiel wanders off to the bedroom, relieved to have gotten that out of his system despite it raising more questions than answers. They will just have to hold tight for a while longer, no matter how it feels like that’s all he’s been doing lately.

Castiel is considering whether to take the couch again when Dean rushes into the bedroom, whispering urgently, “Cas, Cas, Cas. You said Samuel left you. Did he say where he went?” When Castiel confirms that he doesn’t know, Dean says, “Samuel has his own rooms here. Wanna break in and check ‘em out?”

Castiel stares. “No, I do not.”

“Fine, I’ll break in and check ‘em out.”

“Dean—” Castiel grabs his arm as he turns away. “Dean, you can’t, that’s dangerous. You’re under suspicion as it is, if someone caught you…”

“I’ve been doing this for years.” Dean grins suddenly. “ _This_ , I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not as though Castiel can stop Dean when he puts his mind to something. Castiel can only watch as Dean runs off, practically bounding as he goes, excited to be able to _do_ something despite this being terribly, horribly ill-advised.

It feels like ages before Dean comes back. In the meantime Castiel showers, finishes up the newspaper crossword, and then nods off at the desk by accident, only to jump up when the doors open.

Dean catches Castiel’s eye deliberately – he found something – before closing the door behind him. At Dean’s gesture Castiel follows him into the bedroom, where Dean hauls out a slip of paper from the back of his shirt.

“He’s going to notice if you stole his things,” Castiel says.

“I didn’t steal, I copied.” There should be privacy enough in their rooms but they’re compelled to sit on the floor next to the bed, tucked as far away from the door. “Okay, I had to pick a couple of locks to find something, but basically, I think grandpa’s been in secret communication with Sam, or with someone in Sam’s group.”

Dean couldn’t find any letters but he did find envelopes, and the addresses loosely match the pattern of Sam’s movement after he’d fled from the engagement. At least, that’s the conclusion Dean’s reached, for the names mean nothing to Castiel.

“So your grandfather could be feeding the group intel,” Castiel says. “They will know that Michael is coming here.”

“Michael?” Dean echoes. “ _Michael_ Michael?”

“That’s what Samuel told me yesterday,” Castiel says. “I must consider that he told me that in order to scare me into fleeing. My escape would force Michael to show his hand. Reveal his true intentions.”

“I gotta warn Mom. Geez, I gotta warn _Ellen._ ” Dean runs a hand over his face worriedly. “Except they might not believe me, they might say it’s just you trying to influence me, especially if it’s grandpa we’re pointing at. But they gotta know that there’s people rigging it from the inside.”

“Who do you trust?”

Dean starts. “What kind of question is that?”

“You can love someone and not trust them, I’m not belittling your relationship with your parents,” Castiel says sharply. “Who would you trust with this information?”

“Victor,” Dean says. “Jo – she and her mom don’t always see eye to eye. Benny. Bobby. A couple of others.”

“Then you must tell them to be at llchester for when Michael arrives. I’m sure Ellen will have her own security but she won’t be able to bring a significant force, as that would be considered rude. Your friends must be there to prevent whatever this anti-royal group is planning. I believe that Ellen is earnest in her efforts to have this agreement work, and she should be allowed that chance.”

“But you don’t care for Bobby and all. From where you stand they could be part of the anti-royals as well. I mean, _I_ know they’re not…”

“It’s not like I’m spoiled for choice,” Castiel says dryly. “This is all I can do.”

Dean falls silent, gaze dropping to the copy paper in his hand. He is tense, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the paper. They haven’t spoken it aloud but Castiel knows they’re both thinking of what might happen – it could be anywhere from a protest with the intent to humiliate the king, to his outright assassination (as improbable and ludicrous as that may sound).

“Michael will be well-protected,” Dean says faintly. “He’s got his whole entourage, Zach’s set up camp…”

“Yes.” Castiel covers Dean’s hand with his own – a move he only realizes he’s done when Dean’s head snaps up in surprise, but by then it’s too late. Dean’s almost vibrating under Castiel’s palm. “You can still tell Ellen and your mother, if you wish. They may not believe you, but at least you’ve tried.”

“They’re not bad people,” Dean says. “My brother, my family… they’re not.”

“Fear makes us do things,” Castiel says. “Your mother is right. Zachariah took the town deliberately, to show that he could. That would make anyone nervous.”

“I should…” Dean turns away, swallowing. “I should make contact with Victor. Jo – I should find Jo. It’s late but she should – yeah, I should find her. It’s funny, isn’t it? I thought they were crazy for thinking there was a conspiracy going on, except there is, and closer to home.”

“It’s my observation that we’re very alike, from both sides of the sea.” Castiel draws back, and suppresses his inappropriate urge to touch when Dean wraps his arms around himself worriedly. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Take the bed.” Dean stands up. “I had it last night, so we can switch.”

“All right,” Castiel says. “Good luck.”

* * *

Dean is curled up on the couch when Castiel wakes up the next morning. Castiel’s intention is to let him sleep in, because goodness knows what time he’d returned to their rooms the night before, but that’s thrown to the wind when Kevin bursts into their rooms with a frantic, “Yellow alert, sirs! His Highness is on the way to Ilchester!”

Castiel remembers to act surprised. “Well, shit. Now what?”

The answer to that is a whirlwind of activity – Dean is woken up, Rachel arrives with formal suits from Joshua House, and Ellen drops by to personally tell them that Michael’s arrival is officially a courtesy visit, and is a concession to the Council’s refusal to let Dean leave the Republic’s shores.

“It’s going to be a public event,” Ellen says. “Castiel will present Dean to His Highness, and that will be considered the appropriate homage as is required for you both. He’s expected to arrive at two, during which you will be waiting for him on site, and then the rest of the talks will commence.”

“Do you really think everything will be ready in time?” Dean asks.

“Let me worry about that,” Ellen says. She sweeps out, her to-do list of the day no doubt massive and complicated.

For this busy morning Castiel and Dean’s only moment of privacy is during the small chunk of time they’ve been allotted for breakfast, where Dean leans towards Castiel and says in a low voice, “I got the word out to Victor. He and the gang should be in Ilchester by this afternoon, but there’s no guarantee.”

Castiel nods. “So you’ve done what we can.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It never does,” Castiel agrees.

Rachel and Kevin return to put them through their paces, explaining the protocol of meeting the king and what will be expected of them. At least, that’s their purpose – Dean knows all of it already, though if Castiel were him he’d snap at them for assuming he does not. They spend some time in staging mock meeting with Kevin taking Michael’s place, and it goes well enough.

The actual thing will be different, though. Michael is all about pageantry and intimidation, and no matter how many of Castiel’s stories that he’s shared with Dean to dismantle that effect, it is likely he will forget them in the heat of the moment through no fault of his own.

“How many times you want me to do this?” Dean asks as he unfolds himself from his position at Kevin’s feet. “My knees are killing me.”

“Oh God, we mustn’t injure him!” Rachel exclaims. “Please sit. I will get you a drink.”

“Rachel, chill,” Dean says. “It’ll be fine.”

They have lunch close to noon, and after taking their turns freshening up it’s time to get into their formal attire. Dean has his full black and silver dress suit, charms on display. Castiel has another set of formal robes, Michael’s colors in the lining of his sleeves and collar.

The robes may be elaborate, but when Castiel looks at his reflection in the mirror he feels… incomplete. No, not incomplete – _unarmed._ Struck by inspiration, he goes to his backpack and takes the most important of Anna’s letters. Her spirit is embedded in her writing, and it’s as good a talisman as any. He tucks them into the pocket under his chestpiece and takes a deep breath, hoping to draw strength from them.

When Castiel opens his eyes, Dean is standing just behind him, also studying the mirror.

“Cross your fingers all goes well?” Dean says.

Castiel shrugs. “That’s a good ritual, too.”

* * *

It goes quite smoothly, in fact.

He and Dean arrive at Zachariah’s camp well before they are needed, and get to watch the last touches being made to the royal tent and canopy. Michael’s ship is already off-shore, and although it’s not as large as Zachariah’s, its gold figurehead of a lion, eagle and bull is visible even from a distance.

Despite the expectant hush that’s fallen over the camp, Castiel estimates there are more people here than there was the other day. He is alert and Dean even more so, though they take care not to be too obvious of it. Samuel Campbell is with Ellen and the other Council members, but he gives nothing away when Castiel studies him.

Overall, it goes practically picture-perfect. A convoy of transport boats bring the king to shore, Michael surprisingly understated in his choice of dress today – he is wearing a suit instead of robes, and has a circlet instead of a crown. He is startlingly handsome and in the bloom of life, with sharp cheekbones and a coy smile; it takes effort to remember that he is only a handful of years younger than Dean’s parents. Michael nods approvingly when he and his entourage are received by Zachariah, and then they’re brought to the canopy where Michael sits on the throne set up for him. After Ellen and the other Council members are introduced, it’s their turn.

Dean is flawless. If there is anyone watching who doesn’t have context, Castiel would wager they’d think Dean is the prince. Dean is respectful and polite, and when they kneel down together, he doesn’t flinch when Michael touches the top of his head.

“So you are the man that has captured my cousin’s heart,” Michael says. “We must talk about that some time. I’m sure the story has been altered in the telling, and I must take advantage of gaining access to the source.”

“It’d be an honor,” Dean says.

“In the meanwhile I shall confer upon you a true honor.” Michael is given a small and ornate wooden box from one of his grooms. There is a sun charm inside, and Michael smiles when Dean straightens up, offering his chest as the placement. “You shall be inducted into the Order of the Sun. A worthy post for my new cousin.”

“You’re very generous, Your Majesty,” Dean says.

While Michael is polite and cool with Dean, his eyes are sharp when he turns to Castiel. Michael’s always known Castiel’s feelings about these kinds of performance farces and, irritatingly, the king has only ever been amused by it.

“And what shall you ask for, cousin?” Michael asks. “You have served us well in this venture.”

“My husband has responsibilities to his House and fellow hunters,” Castiel says. “If he could be allowed—”

“Don’t talk of that now. Once I am done here Dean will sit with Ephraim—” Michael gestures over his shoulder at Ephraim, who inclines his head in acknowledgement, “—for his name has not yet been put in the family tree, and that must be rectified. We have decided on a full traditional ceremony, and I believe that your… _Chuck_ wishes to take photographs. While he is having that done you, Castiel, will sit with me, for I have been remiss in my duties as your cousin and your lord.”

“Shouldn’t I be with my husband while his name is being added?” Castiel asks carefully.

Michael gives him a look. “Have you two consummated?” He nods knowingly at whatever expressions are on their faces. “Then is it not necessary for you to be there in person, and you will keep my company, dear cousin.”

Castiel bobs his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Afterward we will have dinner together,” Michael says. “You may go.”

They murmur their thank yous and take their leave. Once they’re in the relative privacy of the guest tent, Castiel turns to Dean and says softly, “He means to stay overnight at the very least. If the group hasn’t acted yet, they’ll have until tomorrow to pull something off.”

“Michael’s got like, a dozen guards,” Dean says. “You can’t become king without being a paranoid bastard first, right?”

“That is true.” Castiel takes Dean’s wrist, turning it so he can check his watch. “More waiting. Wonderful.”

* * *

Hael comes to collect them when it’s time for Dean to have his name added to the tree. Dean knows how the ceremony works, they’d talked about it enough as they’d studied the tree in Joshua House’s long gallery, but Dean keeps asking the same questions again and again.

“I don’t understand why they need my blood,” Dean says. “It’s not even frigging necessary.”

“It’s symbolic homage to the historical context—”

“Still unnecessary!” Dean sing-songs.

“For crying out loud,” Castiel says irritably. “It’s just a tiny pin prick. You won’t even feel it.”

“That’s what they all say!” Dean exclaims. “Just before they jab you with a carving knife!”

“Dean.” Castiel grabs Dean’s forearms to hold him still, and then starts fixing his collar where he’s been pulling it in his nervousness. “You’re a hunter. You’ve made a career of cutting yourself with unsterilized knives.”

“Stereotype,” Dean mutters.

“It’s a tiny needle.” Castiel snaps his collar in place, and then smacks Dean’s hand when he reaches for his hair. “This is a solemn ceremony, there will be pictures, and I will not be there to cheerlead you. Can you manage this on your own?”

“Yes, dear,” Dean mutters, dropping a kiss on Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel stiffens in shock, and Dean jerks back, eyes wide. Accident. Just an accident. Dean had just been swept up in the moment. Castiel turns to where Hael is watching them bemusedly and says, “We’re married. He’s allowed to do that.”

“Of course, Your Lordship,” she says neutrally. “Shall we go now?”

“Yeah.” Dean clears his throat and glances back at Castiel, mouthing a quick, “ _Sorry”_ before they follow Hael out of the tent.

Castiel watches Dean for as long as he can, up until Hael ushers him into another tent where Chuck and Ephraim are waiting for them. The royal tent is just the opposite, with Michael’s guards standing at attention at the entrance. Castiel takes a deep breath before approaching, ignoring the curious eyes watching him as he waits outside the flap for the guard to announce him.

The inside of the royal tent is luxurious, full of ornate furniture, hanging tapestries, and a round table where finger foods and fruits are laid out. A section at the back has been cordoned off, presumably Michael’s bed is behind it. As for the king himself, he is poring over what appears to be a map spread out over a table, and he smiles when he sees Castiel.

“Cousin.” Michael draws close, clasping Castiel’s shoulders firmly before patting his cheek. “You’re looking very well.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “Dean is with Ephraim as we speak. I have done my best to be a good husband to him, as you asked.”

“Good, good. You were always one to cut straight to the quick. I always liked that about you. In fact, there are many things about you that inspire pride, which is more than I can say for most of my generals.”

With no one else watching, Castiel can’t be bothered to act touched. “Don’t let Zachariah hear you say that.”

“He knows it well enough,” Michael says with a laugh. “In many ways you are the most loyal, the most faithful of all my kin. You could have fled your duty, yet you did not.” The king’s smile is gentle, if it’s possible to be gentle and ice cold at the same time.

“Thank you?” Castiel says.

“Oh, I know you didn’t do it for _me_.” Michael draws away, taking a seat at the table and gesturing for Castiel to join him. “You cannot know how glad I am to see you. I was worried they’d take you from me. My informants tell me they made another attempt last night.”

Castiel, who had been making himself comfortable on a chair, looks at the king sharply. “Last night?”

“Waiting in the woods to snatch you away, I’ve been told.” Michael takes a piece of fruit and starts peeling it as he talks. “Saboteurs, the lot of them. Probably trying to infiltrate Ilchester as we speak.”

Castiel should not be surprised. He doesn’t know why he is. “You know about the anti-royal movement.”

“They made plans to steal you and your husband from Joshua House as well,” Michael says. “But Dean’s hunter ruffians beat them to it, which was a touch of good luck. Sam Winchester, that child, thought he could save his brother. Zachariah had come to make a daring rescue, only to find that he was dealing with the wrong kidnappers, and said kidnappers were far too pliable on the negotiation table.”

Castiel can process all of this properly later. For right now, he hones in on what is crucial. “Then you know how dangerous it is for you to be here.”

“I’m here because I was always meant to be,” Michael says calmly. “The town of Ilchester is where it begins.”

Castiel feels cold. He wishes he could reach over and smack that fruit from Michael’s hands. He cannot, because he cannot move. “This is an invasion?”

Michael pause, frowning at Castiel a little. “Ah, so you do _not_ know it all. The ‘anti-royal faction’ as you so call them, is being led by my brother. _That_ brother.”

“Lucifer is in exile in the wastelands,” Castiel says quietly.

“From which he has been freed by greedy little Continental fools who think they can claim pieces of the Kingdom like a prize. You are perhaps too young to remember Lucifer’s effect on people. No doubt he’s promised them all sorts of rewards if they follow him to our ruin. He’s been building his power base for years, and now I have the means to stop him.”

“Michael,” Castiel says thickly. “You’re bringing your battle here?”

“ _Lucifer brought it here_ ,” Michael hisses. “He seduced these people first, these parentless children who still cannot decide how to run their own country. _I_ have come to protect them. _I_ will take as many of them under protection of the Crown as I can. God willing, we will be one big family again, as it was centuries ago.”

Castiel knows what it means that Michael is telling him this, bringing him further into his confidences than is proper.

“Lucifer,” Michael says, “sought to take you and your husband so that these Continental people will rally around him. Now they will rally around me.”

“You think this will force the Council to turn against their own?”

“They’re already almost there,” Michael says, almost gleefully. “Their Council is made up of duplicitous, unprincipled cretins, and they have been playing both sides from the very start of the talks. With one hand they reached out to me, and with the other to Lucifer. I suppose they thought that would make it a win-win for them, but now it just means they’re splintering neatly.”

“They’re not all duplicitous,” Castiel says. “Not all them.”

“Not all,” Michael agrees. “But enough. Ah, Castiel, don’t be so gloomy. You are a pragmatic one. Tell me, what way to proceed would be agreeable with you, knowing that Lucifer is out there and is building his garrison?”

Castiel barely survived the last time. His parents had followed Lucifer during the first of the Duke’s acts of aggression against the Crown, and it’s only through the mercy of the king that Castiel did not perish with them. He remembers Anna telling him with a hushed voice of how Lucifer had finally been caught and maybe they’d be allowed to leave the Tollbooth and find a new family. Then, years later, Castiel had the chance to explore the places of Lucifer’s destruction himself, studying the swathes of land he’d razed to the ground in his rage against his father and brother.

Lucifer is a phantom. Castiel’s seen the scars he’s left behind, and listened to the stories of those who were there, but he is loathe to declare judgment on someone he’s never met. At this point that doesn’t matter, though, does it? Michael is set on his path, and has made use of the pieces as they’ve fallen into his lap. He will not be swayed by anyone, let alone someone as inconsequential as Castiel.

“Maybe he doesn’t want you dead,” Castiel ventures. “I heard that their goal is merely for all of us to be sent off the continent and the Wall to go back up.”

“Lucifer will settle for that, yes. But if he cannot take my crown then mark my words, he’ll create a new one for himself right here. It was always going to end up like this – Father knew that when he exiled Lucifer instead of killing him.” Michael takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again his voice is soft, “You and Dean can still build a true marriage.”

“Don’t say his name,” Castiel snaps. “You arranged my marriage only so that you could gain access to this country, to the Council. You merely wanted _intel_ on Lucifer, and you – you… ” He turns away, face shamefully hot.

“You are an example to us all,” Michael says kindly. “You have acted in good faith, and you have helped to save your people by doing it.”

Now comes the conclusion. Michael has been generous in his openness, and Castiel is expected to be generous in return. There is a small velvet pouch underneath the table, and Michael hands it over to Castiel. Opening it, Castiel pulls out a midnight blue binding cloth, almost dropping it when he realizes what it is.

“This is illegal,” Castiel says.

“Nothing the king does is illegal,” Michael says primly. “You are strong enough to use this, yes? Your time in the University will be useful after all. This is for you, and you will make Dean compliant for us.”

Castiel needs time to think, but of course Michael won’t give him that. Castiel knows too much now, just as he knows that this hulking beast of a civil war has been years in the making, and it will find its outlet one way or another. Castiel feels small, _is_ small, has always been small. But Dean – he can save Dean. He can protect him.

“I want custody of my husband,” Castiel says.

Michael makes a noise of surprise. “Dean will be under my protection—”

“I want custody,” Castiel says firmly. “I want to take him away from all of this.”

“Out of the question. Dean is too useful – he has ties to the hunters, the Council _and_ the noble Houses. Both of you will need to be seen together to be of effective use.”

“Dean will not stand for it. I know him. Even if I bind him, he is clever enough to find a way to circumvent it. He will pull off his own arm if need be, for that is who he is. He must be completely cut off from his people if he is to be managed.”

This doesn’t make Michael happy at all. He sits back in his chair, tapping a finger against his chin contemplatively. “Dean _did_ run from your honeymoon home at the prospect of saving his brother. That is the norm for him?”

“He can do much more than that.”

“Fine, I will find some other means to use your faces. You will take him far inland and keep him there. How about that mountain chateau you were so fond of?”

Castiel starts in surprise. “You’d give that to me?”

“It’s not mine to give,” Michael admits, “but it will be so. I suppose I can make do with this. Dean’s family and hunter connections are extensive, so it may be enough just to hold him to force their hand. Good. You will do this.”

Castiel almost thanks Michael, but remembers himself in time.

* * *

Dinner is easier. Well, relatively easier. Michael has invited others to dine with him tonight – Ellen, Zachariah, a couple of Zachariah’s officers and other Council members – so Castiel and Dean aren’t expected to participate much in the conversation. The order of precedence also means they’re seated together at the opposite end of the table from Michael, which suits them just fine.

“Grandpa Samuel not here, I see,” Dean whispers, his voice pitched low to be unnoticeable beneath the clatter of cutlery and important voices. “Took his leave?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies. “How was the ceremony?”

“Yeah, it was a tiny pin prick.” Dean shows Castiel the pad of left ring finger, where there’s a little red dot. “You wanna kiss it bett – _sorry_ , sorry. Reflex.”

“You do that when you’re nervous, I understand.”

Dean smiles sheepishly, and then turns his attention to the rows of forks and spoons on either side of his plate. “Shh, don’t tell me, that’d be cheating.”

The others don’t pay them much attention. Dean is only invited to speak up once, when Michael asks if he would like to request a wedding gift, to which Dean replies that he’s already grateful for the property he and Castiel have jointly been given and would only like the opportunity to visit them. Michael is pleased, and Ellen nods subtly in approval.

For the most part Castiel and Dean speak little, and even then only to each other. Castiel tells him, “Michael is going to ask if we’ll stay here tonight. I was thinking, as a concession for my agreeing to stay at Chambers for the past few nights, that we could agree.”

Dean nods. “Would be good to stay nearby, at least until Michael leaves.”

“Yes.”

So it is that they’re given their own guest tent to sleep in. Michael’s entourage has meant that the encampment has spread even further – new tents are hauled up and there’s even a makeshift fence erected around the perimeter for the sake of Michael’s safety. Dean grumbles to himself that security could be better, but admits that Michael’s guards are scary motherfuckers and even Samuel would think twice before trying to take them on.

Once left in the privacy of their tent does Castiel fully realize what he is about to do. He undresses quietly, pulling off his robe and hanging it up on the frame, dusting it down carefully where he can. Behind him Dean groans his relief as he undoes his jacket buttons.

“Dean,” Castiel says. “I need help changing my bandages.”

“Yep. Hey, does Michael really have his own luxury porta-potty in his tent? ‘Cause that’s just cracking me up.”

Castiel manages a chuckle and an affirmation, dropping into the familiar routine of explaining what Dean would like to know. Their tent may not be as fully furnished as the king’s but there are some hygiene amenities here – a private sink and fancy water dispensers, along with a first aid kit that Dean opens up.

Dean throws away the old bandages, nodding with approval that the wound won’t need to be padded with cotton anymore. “Healing over nicely,” he says. “Any irritation?”

“No.” Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s, stopping him before he can start wrapping the new bandage. “Dean, do you trust me?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Yeah. What’s up?”

“I have been able to obtain a binding cloth,” Castiel says. “We’ve been successful in keeping the state of our tattoos hidden for now, but I fear it won’t last. It will be difficult to answer the questions that will arise.”

Dean rubs his arm self-consciously. “Yeah… It’s been a bummer having to go long-sleeved almost all the time. Kinda forgot what my elbows look like. How’d you get the cloth?”

“Saw it and stole it. Will you let me heal our tattoos?”

“Sure.”

It is too easy. It should not be this easy. Logically Castiel knows that Dean is – _has been_ – so agreeable because of his consciousness of Castiel’s anger, and due to his desire to make things right between them. Castiel wasn’t completely correct when he said that Dean is the more knowledgeable of the two of them when it comes to relationships; that statement may be true in general, but Dean’s never had a relationship like this, never even got the chance to fully process what it would _mean_ to have a relationship like this before he was thrown into it. Dean is still figuring out; he still _cares_ enough to want to figure it out.

It makes sense that Dean is able to sit on the bed, turned towards Castiel with nothing more than mild curiosity as he unfurls the binding cloth. It makes sense that the extent of Dean’s concern is the way he yawns when he folds his sleeve up to reveal the length of his tattoo.

Castiel sits next to Dean, his own sleeve rolled up. Dean offers his arm, and Castiel puts it in position so that their hands are clasping each other. Then he starts winding the cloth around their twined forearms, murmuring a chant as he goes.

It is unfair. Castiel isn’t even done being angry at Dean, yet he has now forfeited that right. Castiel holds the tip of the binding cloth his other hand and pauses, meeting Dean’s gaze. Dean’s responding smile is slightly sleepy. He is too careless.

“Oh hey,” Dean says. “Isn’t this supposed to be done by a cleric? Or at least a neutral party, ‘cause otherwise the binding will be uneven—”

Castiel snaps the binding cloth. Magic rushes through the rip, lighting up the ink of their tattoos, pushing new whorls and lines into their skin. Castiel holds Dean’s hand tight, ignoring the way Dean jerks in surprise as the binding takes hold.

“It is done,” Castiel says when he finally lets Dean go.

Dean flexes his arm. “That’s weird, it wasn’t like that last time—”

“Sleep,” Castiel says.

Dean looks up at Castiel, frowning. “What—”

Castiel presses his palm against Dean’s forehead. “ _Sleep_ , husband.”

Dean fights it. Of course he can fight it, he is of strong and stubborn mind, and the binding has not had enough time to settle in his blood. But Castiel has his task to do and grabs Dean’s collar, holding him in place and ignoring the loose, confused way Dean flails to try to push him off. Castiel has the advantage of surprise and will, and keeps his gaze focused on Dean’s ear so that he won’t have to see the look in his eyes as he falls unconscious.

It only takes a handful of seconds for Dean to go lax, and Castiel carefully deposits him on the bed. Castiel stuffs the unused new bandages into his pockets and then puts on one of the more casual jackets hanging from the rack. It is late enough that the camp is quieter now, its various inhabitants retired for the night.

Castiel stands there for a while, gazing down at Dean’s sleeping form. Castiel feels almost displaced from his own body. He has done it, and there is no going back now.

Hael is waiting outside Castiel’s tent, and she gestures for her assistants when Castiel calls for her. They are efficient. They’d probably had this all planned out before they arrived, along with the dozens of alternative plans and contingencies. They talk in soft voices and move quietly, lifting Dean onto a stretcher and covering him with a blanket.

Their route through the camp has been chosen well, the walkways and tents quiet all the way to the shoreline. Zachariah and a rower are sitting inside a rowboat, the former irritable and the latter warming up his arms. When Castiel climbs into the boat and carefully sets Dean on the floor, Zachariah grabs Dean’s arm, pushing the sleeve just far enough to see the top line of the new binding before Castiel shoves him away.

“You did it,” Zachariah says, almost in admiration. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Castiel says.

The boat is pushed off, the rower taking the oars with quiet efficiency. They are soon swallowed by the unnatural fog that is spread out over the water, Michael’s ships reduced to pinpricks of light in the thick gray. Castiel licks his thumb and raises it into the air; when he licks his thumb again he tastes the faint metallic tang of magic.

“Your precious alchemy has come leaps and bounds of late, hasn’t it?” Zachariah says.

“I said not to talk to me.” Castiel leans forward in his seat, taking Dean’s hands into his own to rub warmth into them.

* * *

A grand cabin has been prepared for them aboard Zachariah’s vessel. Castiel is tired but he pushes the others away, lifting Dean into the bed by himself. Zachariah watches all of this, silent and judgmental. Castiel is not in the mood.

“His Highness is most pleased at this show of your commitment,” Zachariah says.

“I didn’t do it for him,” Castiel says. “He knows that, you know that, so don’t bother.”

Zachariah’s affront would be hilarious in any other context. He offers a bow and sweeps out, snapping his fingers at his officers to lock the doors behind them. Castiel turns down the lights and sits on the bed near Dean’s legs, taking deep breaths as he waits for the footsteps to fade away.

How long before cast off? Not long.

Castiel climbs on top of Dean, presses his hand to Dean’s mouth, and whispers, “Wake, husband.” Dean’s eyelids snap open. He starts to speak, but Castiel hushes him with a quick, “I will explain all, but there is no time. What’s important is that we are on a ship, and we must get off right now. There is a lifeboat there—” He points towards the wide windows of the stern, “—but the frame is locked. I need your help getting to it. We must be quiet.”

Dean blinks slowly, his eyes still a little glazed. After a beat, he nods and Castiel removes his hand.

“Geez, Cas,” Dean whispers, sitting up. “I’d make a joke about you getting back at me for that time we kidnapped you, but I—”

“ _Now,_ Dean.”

They move quickly, Dean’s hunter ingenuity still present despite the effects of the second binding. Dean takes a moment to study the frame and then finds a weak spot, pushing it open enough for the two of them to crawl out onto the ledge. The cabin directly above them is dark, which is good, and they shimmy down to the port rowboat using the makeshift rope Dean’s fashioned from the bedsheets.

The lifeboat is smaller than the rowboat, but it’s functional enough. Dean takes the oars, squinting into the fog as they search for the lights of the town shore. Castiel starts to speak but Dean taps his finger against his mouth – they are still close enough to the ship that they’ll need to be quiet.

There are shouts, no call for the alarm. Dean rows steadily, making sure the oars are no louder than the lapping waves, while Castiel points in the direction they need to go. It’s only a handful of minutes before they’ve drifted away, but Castiel cannot exhale just yet.

 _Knife?_ Castiel mouths, miming a stabbing motion. Dean nods, pointing at his shin. Castiel lifts the hem of Dean’s pants, collecting silver folding knife he keeps strapped there. A hunter apparently always has such things on them, even when dressed in finery.

While Dean rows, Castiel sheds his jacket and shoves his sleeve up, revealing the thicker lines of his modified tattoo. He pinches the skin, searching for the points he’d damaged a few days ago. Michael’s binding spell was meant to add, not fix, so the flaws are still there.

Dean hisses through his teeth, catching Castiel’s attention. _What are you doing_? he mouths.

Castiel hold his hand up, telling Dean to wait.

A sharpened knife is a world away from a makeshift fork, and Castiel is able to slice through three control points of the second binding quickly, one after another. A second later his nerves catch up, pain blooming across Castiel’s arm and locking up the muscles in protest of this betrayal. Castiel grits his teeth, shakes his arm petulantly in the cold air in an attempt to dispel the roar of pain.

Across him from Dean inhales sharply and his left arm jerks in the recoil. The second binding isn’t equal – its entire _purpose_ is to not be equal – so luckily Dean is able to continue rowing almost immediately. Dean’s eyes also sharpen with new awareness, now that the second binding’s hold on him is undone.

Binding spells are for commitment and equality, yet of course Michael had found – or _made_ , Castiel wouldn’t put it past him – a primitive binding from the time when such concepts were not even paid lip service to. Castiel turns away from Dean to wash the wound with sea water, hiding the extent of the damage from him as Castiel wraps it up with the unused bandages.

It’s only once they’re a comfortable distance away that Castiel says softly, “This was an old binding meant for concubines. Many spells can be interwoven into a marriage tattoo – for safety, recreation, pleasure. This was originally meant for protection, but along the way _protection_ turned into _control._ It’s been forbidden for centuries. We don’t talk about that part of our history much.”

“Gets you right into the other’s head, huh,” Dean says flatly. “Felt like being drunk.”

“Yes.” Castiel ties the edge of his bandage firmly. “It’s broken now, it won’t affect you anymore.” This binding was designed to be near impossible to break – it is only the fact that Castiel had already damaged the base tattoo that it could be done at all. Michael knew what he was doing when he asked Castiel to perform it. Castiel will be paying for it for a long time.

“So,” Dean says, almost jovially, “are we divorced now or what?”

“I… I don’t know,” Castiel says uncertainly. “I think some of the name points are, I can finish those now if—”

“No, Cas,” Dean says. “It already looks like you’re not gonna be able to use that hand for a while.”

Castiel falls silent, nodding dumbly.

There’s no way to know exactly how far the ship has gone in this fog, but the shore seems closer. Castiel finally dares look at Dean, who is frowning at him, uncertain if and where to place his anger.

“Michael spoke to me,” Castiel says quietly.

Castiel tells him everything. About Lucifer, about the marriage, about why Michael is here. Dean’s expression is grim, but he asks only useful questions for clarification, and he does not once raise his voice. Dean is surprised a handful of times, and the bitter smile that settles on his face is one that reflects Castiel’s own disbelief.

“You…” Dean sighs. “You couldn’t have told me what you were gonna do before siccing that binding on me?”

“I panicked,” Castiel admits. “There was no way Michael was going to let us go once he had us in the camp. I just wanted to get us out of there, and I figured the only way to do it was to show my compliance. And this way we have six, maybe seven hours before they realize we’re missing.”

Dean nods absently. “So this is what it was all really about, huh. I thought the agreement was supposed to bring us closer.”

“In Michael’s head, it does. You know all about the in-fighting of my family.” Castiel is shaking a little, though whether it is to do with nerves or the cold, he cannot tell. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“You were right,” Castiel says. “You, your friends, you were all right. There were always ill intentions, you never should have trusted—”

“That’s not you. Michael is not you.”

“But I am guilty of apathy. I distanced myself from court, thinking that I was better than it. When Naomi told me I had to marry, I didn’t investigate, I didn’t push back hard enough—”

“Cas.” Dean releases an oar and reaches out. His hand is absurdly warm against Castiel’s cheek, his eyes fierce even in the dim light. “Cas, you chose to warn me, that takes guts and a half. I can _do_ something about this. I can mobilize the hunters, I know what to say when I see Sammy, and I don’t have to play _nice_ anymore.”

That startles a smile out of Castiel. Dean’s always liked it when the enemy is seen and the goal is clear. For all of this situation’s terribleness, it is now more open in a way that Dean can attack. And he _will_ attack, Castiel has no doubt.

Dean takes up the oar again and continues rowing. He’s already thinking, already plotting. He hasn’t yelled obscenities at Castiel.

Castiel knows relief in the hard line of Dean’s mouth, the steely determination in his eyes. Dean will know what to do. Dean has evidence of Michael’s intentions thanks to the vile tattoo on his arm. Dean has allies and ammunition he can use. They will rally around him. Castiel doesn’t realize he’s reaching for Dean until his hand lands on Dean’s knee, needing strength from something solid and real and grounding. Castiel bows his head, trying to calm his breathing.

The water beneath their boat sounds shallower now, though Dean’s rowing has moved further up the shoreline, leaving the lights of the camp far away.

“Cas, what you did,” Dean says quietly, “that counts as treason, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve always known it’d happen sooner or later. It’s in my blood.”

“If Michael catches you…”

“I will try my best not to let that happen. I will go to my sister.” Castiel presses a hand against his chest, feeling the hard shape of the letters he’d put there. “She wrote to me some weeks ago with an address. I think it was a safe space for me to head to if I was ever in trouble. We used to do that for each other.”

Dean has a strange, hesitant look on his face, and it takes Castiel a moment to parse that as some internal struggle on whether he should speak up. “Cas, I get we haven’t been… I _know_ I haven’t been able to keep you safe lately, but do you really think it’s a good idea to go it alone?”

“We are more attractive as a unit to be played when we’re together,” Castiel says. “This way, you are free to be _you,_ Dean of Winchester, hunter among hunters. You can go to work without encumbrance, and I can… I will be removed from Michael’s grasp.”

“Okay,” Dean says eventually. “Yeah, makes sense.”

They get out of the boat when they’re a couple of yards from the shoreline, Castiel moving close behind Dean as he picks his way in the darkness to first trees on the beachfront. They’ve moved sufficiently far up the coast the only the edge of the camp is visible behind them – before them are a couple of wooden houses, all of them dark and still.

“Wait here,” Dean says before ducking around the fence into one of the houses. Castiel doesn’t have to wait long, and Dean returns with an armful of clothes and other things. “You should change. That mug of yours is famous, and you need to stay incognito. Get this hoodie on. _Yes_ , right now, your hand’s almost useless.”

Castiel wants to protest that this isn’t necessary but Dean shushes him, forcibly switching his jacket for a cotton hoodie and pulling the hood over his head. Dean then drags him past the houses, up the road to a park. Dean moves surreptitiously to one of the parked cars on the sidewalk, looking around quickly before pulling out his folding knife.

“You’re not going to steal a car,” Castiel says.

“What, are you gonna _run_ up the highway?”

“But the owner—”

“I’ll come back and settle it tomorrow, okay? And I’m thinking that if all hell breaks loose a missing car will be the least of their problems.” Dean gets the door open frighteningly fast and gestures sharply. “Get in.”

Castiel gets in the driver’s seat and digs around the glove compartment, relieved when he finds a map. Dean kneels in close by Castiel’s legs, fiddling with the wires to get it running.

“You’re gonna have your arm looked at. Go to a small clinic. If any doctor sees a damaged marriage tat they’ll treat you, no questions asked.” Dean pulls out a small wad of cash, though goodness knows where he had been carrying that on him. “Here’s some money, I’m sorry I don’t have more on me—”

“I’ll figure something out,” Castiel says.

“But you don’t have a license, shit. Cas, you gotta stay under the speed limit. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

“I know, I know.” Castiel looks at the fingers of his good hand, they’re almost trembling on the unfamiliar steering wheel. “I’m just sorry I can’t do more for you.”

Dean shakes his head angrily. “You don’t owe me anything. Not me, not any of us. You get out and you stay safe. Okay, let’s see, car, clothes, doctor, money, what else, uh – I love you.”

“What?”

“What?” Dean echoes.

Castiel stares. “ _Why_?”

Dean blinks. He laughs a little, seemingly to himself, and then shakes his head. “’Cause you’re fucking awesome, that’s why. It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me, I just wanted to—I just had to say that, at least once.”

“But…” How is Castiel supposed to process this _now_? Castiel has had a hand in bringing a vicious catastrophe upon them all, the marriage wasn’t meant to be anything but a smokescreen, and he’s just starting to comprehend that he might never be able to return to the land of his birth ever again. Yet this man, this infuriating, calm, inconceivable man whom Castiel has spent the past few days hating and right now has all the right in the world to hate him back, has to go and say _this_?

“You ready to go?” Dean asks. “I’ll start the engine once you’re ready. You won’t be able to turn it off, so keep that in mind.”

“Wait.” Castiel clumsily grabs at Dean’s arm, his shaking fingers moving up to his shoulder and cupping the back of Dean’s neck, drawing him in. Castiel can see the moment Dean realizes what’s happening, and there’s no resistance there – just acceptance.  

At first Castiel is shaking too much for it to be kiss at all. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this, only that he wants to drink of Dean, his spirit, his strength, his tenacity. It doesn’t even matter how much of their strange relationship is real anymore, because they are small, tiny, infinitesimal in face of what is about to befall upon them.

Dean kisses him slowly, carefully. His lips are warm, his fingers are light on Castiel’s face. Castiel will hold this memory for as long as he can.

Castiel keeps his eye open when draws back so that he can watch the way Dean’s eyelids flutter. Castiel realizes that his hand is now steady on Dean’s shoulder – as steady as Dean’s eyes when they open to meet his.

“You need to hurry,” Castiel says.

“Sit back,” Dean says. “Lemme get it running.”

The car is old but it springs to life under Dean’s ministrations. He backs up and closes the door, standing back with his thumbs resting on his belt. Dean’s expression is blank but his eyes tell too much.

“I wish you every luck in the world, Dean,” Castiel says. Dean nods, the edges of mouth twitching into something not quite a smile. He doesn’t reply.

Castiel doesn’t mean to look in the mirror when he drives off, but he has only so much willpower. Dean is still standing there, holding a hand up but not waving.


End file.
